“He will come, Senor; nothing would give him greater joy.  And,” he added wishfully, “but for my sweetheart, Senors, I would ask that I might come with you also!”

“You stick to your sweetheart, Valencia—­if she’s true,” Jack advised him somberly.  “Now, Dade, I guess we’re ready for the long ride to supper.  Why don’t you kick me for being such a selfish cuss?”

“Maybe because I’m used to you,” Dade’s lips quirked humorously after the retort.  “You’re just Jack—­and you couldn’t be any different, I reckon, if you tried.  Well, come along, then.  Adios, Valencia.”

Once more they shook hands solemnly with the vaquero, who had no smile for the parting.

“Adios, adios,” Valencia called lingeringly after them, and held his horse quiet that he might gaze after them until a willow bend hid them finally from his view.