Free Suzanna by Harry Sinclair Drago Page A

both musical and flexible. “I trust your health is of the best.”
    The friar took good note of the man’s costly raiment and the style of his hair. Priest he might be, but even so, he was a Spaniard, and not without a certain fondness for those of the bull-ring. “Thank you, my son,” he answered with extreme good-will. “May the saints guard you; my health is most excellent. ’Tis passing long since I have seen one of your calling.”
    The stranger smiled at this directness.
    â€œYou live in a new country with little time for play,” he expostulated. “I have almost convinced myself that it were well that I was done with it, too. Tell me, I pray, where lies the hacienda of Don Diego de Sola?”
    â€œJust a short distance beyond,” the friar answered. “In fact thou art gazing on the fields of Don Diego now. By continuing, within the hour you will come to the caserio . It lies to the left of the highway. Opposite, on your right, you will see the buildings of the Rancho de Gutierrez . You cannot lose your way. Without presuming, I might mention that you will not find Don Diego at home. He has been in Mexico City these many months.”
    â€œYes, I know, kind father. He is returning shortly,” the stranger replied. “Thank you for your good offices, and may the blessings of God and his saints be upon you.”
    The rider leaned from his saddle and dropped a coin into the padre’s outstretched hand. With the holy man’s blessing upon him, he spurred his horse and soon left the priest far behind.
    Reaching the ridge of the hill pointed out to him by the friar, the man halted his horse and stood for a moment gazing out over the surrounding country—a broad expanse of beautiful land. For as far as his eyes could see, there was rolling country, dotted here and there with greenish-colored patches, but for the most part barren, except for wild grass and mesquite.
    To his right were moderately high hills, sloping upward until their browpish tips kissed the sky; vast herds of cattle wandering sluggishly over them.
    To his left, moving objects, a mile or so distant, caught his eye, and he inspected them carefully. Shortly, he made them out to be mounted men driving before them a herd of horses. They were converging upon a shallow draw beside the road from which a dust cloud rose already. Sending his horse into a hand-gallop, the stranger soon drew close enough to see what went forward.
    A large corral had been constructed here beside the road, and to it Don Fernando’s vaqueros now brought the unbroken horses which had roamed the range since the preceding fall. A smother of dust and the pungent smell of sweaty leather filled the air. Señor Gutierrez was in Monterey, so his retainers made a holiday of the horse-breaking. Whenever the dust lifted, their grinning faces could be seen ringed around the corral fence.
    Young Ramon stood back some distance from the fence, busy with a string of figures. The stranger’s eyes singled him out at once. Ramon, however, was not aware of him. The peons, though, cast many surreptitious glances at the imposing newcomer.
    Ramon had taken his stand beside a hollow log, and what was the stranger’s surprise to see a slender arm shoot out from within the log and toss a handful of dirt at him! Watching, the man saw Ramon start and look downward. The scene was repeated several times. Ramon glared with annoyance at the nearest man, but found nothing to convict him.
    Additional vaqueros with still another string of horses swept down from the hills. Both Ramon and the man at the roadside followed them as they came on. Suddenly, several of the riders uttered a cry, and breaking into a wild gallop swung toward the corral. The watchers were not long in seeing the reason for this. The men had forced a young coyote from cover and they were after him now with the laudable purpose of roping him.
    The peons sent up a cry of joy as