In spite of the unhealthy fancies that Dave Law had taken to bed with him, he arose this morning in fine spirits and with a determination to put in a happy day. Alaire, too, was in good humor and expressed her relief at escaping from everything Mexican.
"I haven't seen a newspaper for ages, and I don't know what is going on at Jonesville or anywhere else," she confided.
Dave told her of the latest developments in the Mexican situation, the slow but certain increase of tension between the two governments, and then of home happenings. When she asked him about his own doings, he informed her of the affair which had brought him to Pueblo.
Of course all three of his companions were breathlessly interested in the story of Pino Garza's death; Dolores and José did not allow a word to escape them.
"So they cut our fence and ran the calves into our pasture to brand!"
Alaire said. "It's time somebody like you came to Jonesville, Mr. Law."
"Caramba! It required bravery to ride alone into that rincon," José declared. "I knew Pino Garza well, and he could shoot like the devil."
"You said your horse saved your life," Mrs. Austin went on. "How do you mean?" When Dave had explained, she cried, quickly, "You weren't riding—Bessie Belle?"
"Yes. She's buried where she dropped."
"Oh-h!" Alaire's exclamation was eloquent of pity, and Law smiled crookedly.
"I've been right lonesome since she went away. 'Most every day I find myself stealing sugar for her, the way I used to do. See!" He fumbled in the pocket of his coat and produced some broken lumps. "Probably you don't understand how a man gets to love his horse. Now we used to talk to each other, just like two people. Of course, I did most of the talking, but she understood. Why, ma'am, I've awakened in the night to find her standing over me and my cheek wet where she'd kissed it. She'd leave the nicest grass just to come and visit with me."