Manuel had found it and wanted to be paid for his
trouble in bringing it to town--but Manuel was a fool. Who, indeed,
would pay good money for a dead Gringo, especially after he was dead?
And there were three cow-punchers holding a herd of 6-X cattle up
north, an hour or so from the town. They wanted to buy steers from Senor
Rodriguez, but said that he was a robber and threatened to cut his ears
off. Cannot a man name his own price? These cow-punchers liked to get
drunk and gallop through San Felippe, shooting like crazy men. They got
drunk one Friday night and went shouting and singing to the Big Bend in
the canyon to see the flying ghost, and they called it names and fired
off their pistols and sang loudly; and for a week they insulted all the
Mexicans in town by calling them liars and cowards. Was it the fault
of any one that the ghost would show itself only to Mexicans? Oh, these
Gringos--might the good God punish them for their sins!
Thus the peons complained to the padre while they kept one eye open for
the advent of the rowdy cow-punchers, who always wanted to drink, and
then to fight with some one, either with fists or pistols. Why should
any one fight with them, especially with such things as fists?
"Let them fight among themselves. What have you to do with heretics?"
reproved the good padre, who ostracized himself from the pleasant parts
of the wide world that he might make easier the life and struggles of
his ignorant flock.
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