"Why is that gringo showing off with a gun?" he asked in Spanish. "He looks so foolish, too!"
"You got to account for that buckskin mare," says Broach, but Jim set in the cool moonlight and lit his cigarette, taking no notice.
"This greaser is lately an orphan, sorr," says Curly, "an' he's only goin' innocent for a dhrunk in Grave City—maning no harr-m at all."
"Where did he get that buckskin?"
"It's the 'pitchfork' mare ye'll be maning, sorr?"
At last Jim knew the brand on the mare he was riding.
"Indade," says Curly, "hasn't she got an Holy Crawss brand on the shoulder as well, sorr? Maybe he stole her there."
"If you want to live, Mr. Greaser, you'll account for that buckskin mare," Broach threatened again with his gun.
"I understand," says Jim in Spanish, puffing his cigarette at Shorty's face. "I took this mare in trade at la Morita Custom House on the Line. A Vaquero Americano could not pay the hundred per cent. duty on his horse, so I traded with him my Mexican-branded mustang to oblige, taking this mare. She's branded 'Holy Cross,' rebranded 'pitchfork.' Perhaps the gentlemen will stand aside—I have explained."
"All very well," said Broach in Spanish, which sounded rough like a railroad accident, "how do you account for that saddle, Jim du Chesnay's silver-mounted saddle?"