"Oh, maybe I go mañana."

"You're dreamin', hombre." Pete was desperate. Again he saw his
chance of an immediate job go glimmering down the vague vistas of many
to-morrows.

"See here! What kind of a guy are you, anyhow? I come in here
yesterday and offered you a job and you promised you'd git to work
right away. You--"

"It was _to-day_ you speak of Montoya," corrected the Mexican.

"You're dreamin'," reiterated Pete. "It was _yesterday_ you said you
would go mañana. Well, it's to-morrow, ain't it? You been asleep an'
don't know it."

An expression of childish wonder crossed the Mexican youth's stolid
face. Of a certainty it was but this very morning that Montoya's boy
had spoken to him! Or was it yesterday morning? Montoya's boy had
said it was yesterday morning. It must be so. The youth rose and
gazed about him. Pete stood aggressively potent, frowning down on the
other's hesitation.

"I go," said the Mexican.

Pete heaved a sigh of relief. "A fella's got to know how to handle
'em," he told the immediate vicinity. And because Pete knew something
about "handlin' 'em," he did not at once go for the horse, but stood
staring after the Mexican, who had paused to glance back. Pete waved
his hand in a gesture which meant, "Keep goin'." The Mexican youth