On the first day of their arrival at Slow Down Ranch, the mother had
presented Orlando with a most magnificent Mexican bridle and head-stall
covered with silver conchs, and a saddle with stirrups inlaid with
silver. Wherefore, it was no wonder that most people stared and wondered,
while some sneered and some even hated. On the whole, however, Orlando
Guise was in the way of making a place for himself in the West in spite
of natural drawbacks.
Old Mazarine did not merely sneer as he saw the gay cavalier approach, he
snorted; and he would have blasphemed, if he had not been a professing
Christian.
"Circus rider!" he said to himself. "Wants taking down some, and he's
come to the right place to get it."
On his part, Orlando Guise showed his dislike of the repellent figure by
a brusque giggle, and further expressed what was in his mind by the one
word "Turk!"
His repugnance, however, was balanced by something possessing the old man
still more disagreeable. Like a malignant liquid, there crept up through
Joel Mazarine's body to the roots of his hair the ancient virus of Cain.
It was jealous, ravenous, grim: old age hating the rich, robust, panting
youth of the man be fore him. Was it that being half man, half beast, he
had some animal instinct concerning this young rough-rider before him?
Did he in some vague, prescient way associate this gaudy newcomer with
his girl-wife? He could not himself have said.
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