"That horse is only good for the wolves," Dominguez announced, after looking the creature over. "He is blind, the eyes have been burned out of him. If you have far to go, my friend, I'd advise you to get another one. See!"
Dominguez struck at the horse, close before its eyes. It stood quite unconscious of the menace of his hand.
"It is true," Juan admitted.
"Yes, and you are little better off," Dominguez declared, a rough sort of pity in his manner. "Jump in now, little man, and I'll land you in San Fernando in three hours."
Juan was reluctant to go in the cart, but there was no other way. He feared that it would appear to those at San Fernando that he was making capital out of such service as he had given Don Geronimo in his hour of peril, a thing that bent down his spirit and humbled his soul to contemplate.
"The misfortune of my situation, Don Geronimo, forces me to do a thing that my manhood revolts against," he said.
Dominguez heard this with amazement, turning on the seat of his cart to look at Juan, standing by the tail-board in such woeful plight that it would seem a blessing, rather than an indignity, to be offered a ride in a cart.
"Don Juan Mealsack, you are a strange animal," he said. "In with you, now, and arrange the canvas to break the sun from Don Geronimo."
"In God's name, Dominguez, drive fast!" Don
