There
was a possibility that Deweese might still be in camp at the new
reservoir, and I was hopeful that my employer might not yet be returned
from the hunt on the Frio. After a number of hours' riding, the horse
under saddle nickered. Halting him, I listened and heard the roosters
crowing in a chorus at the ranch. Clouds had obscured the moon, and so
by making a detour around the home buildings I was able to reach the
Mexican quarters unobserved. I rode up to the house of Enrique, and
quietly aroused him; told him my misfortune and asked him to hide me
until he could get up my horse. We turned the animals loose, and, taking
my saddle inside the _jacal_, held a whispered conversation. Deweese was
yet at the tank. If the hunting party had returned, they had done so
during the night. The distant range of my horse made it impossible to
get him before the middle of the forenoon, but Enrique and Dona Anita
assured me that my slightest wish was law to them. Furnishing me with a
blanket and pillow, they made me a couch on a dry cowskin on the dirt
floor at the foot of their bed, and before day broke I had fallen
asleep.
On awakening, I found the sun had already risen. Enrique and his wife
were missing from the room, but a peep through a crevice in the palisade
wall revealed Dona Anita in the kitchen adjoining.
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