God had wisely
placed them beyond the Rio Grande, said the citizens of Romero.
The crossing was made; Alaire found herself in Texas once again,
and it seemed to her that the sun had never been so bright, the
air so clear, the sky so high, the world so smiling, as here and
now. The men who had ridden forth to seek her were smiling, too,
and they were shaking her hands and congratulating her. Even the
Guzman boys, who were shy in the presence of American ladies, were
wishing her the best of fortune and the greatest of happiness.
Blaze Jones was the last to leave. With especial emphasis upon her
name, he said: "Miz Austin, Paloma and me would like to have you
come to our house and stay until you feel like goin' back to Las
Palmas."
When Alaire declined with moistened eyes, explaining that she
could not well accept his invitation, he signified his
understanding.
"We're goin' to see a lot of you, just the same," he promised her,
"'cause we feel as if you sort of belonged to us. There's a lot of
good people in this part of Texas, and them that ain't so good God
and the Rangers is slowly weedin' out. We don't always know the
ones we like best until something happens to 'em, but if you'd
heard the prayers the folks of Jonesville have been sayin' lately
you'd know you was our favorite.
Pages:
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497