Far more than the law, the Mexicans dreaded the cold and certain vengeance of the lone rider that the ranger sought. It had been one of the Kid's pastimes to shoot Mexicans "to see them kick": if he demanded from them moribund Terpsichorean feats, simply that he might be entertained, what terrible and extreme penalties would be certain to follow should they anger him! One and all they lounged with upturned palms and shrugging shoulders, filling the air with "_quien sabes_" [67] and denials of the Kid's acquaintance. [FOOTNOTE 67: quien sabe--(Spanish) who knows?] But there was a man named Fink who kept a store at the Crossing--a man of many nationalities, tongues, interests, and ways of thinking. "No use to ask them Mexicans," he said to Sandridge. "They're afraid to tell. This _hombre_ they call the Kid--Goodall is his name, ain't it?--he's been in my store once or twice. I have an idea you might run across him at--but I guess I don't keer to say, myself. I'm two seconds later in pulling a gun than I used to be, and the difference is worth thinking about. But this Kid's got a half-Mexican girl at the Crossing that he comes to see. She lives in that _jacal_ a hundred yards down the arroyo at the edge of the pear. Maybe she--no, I don't suppose she would, but that _jacal_ would be a good place to watch, anyway." Sandridge rode down to the _jacal_ of Perez. The sun was low, and the broad shade of the great pear thicket already covered the grass-thatched hut. The goats were enclosed for the night in a brush corral near by. A few kids walked the top of it, nibbling the chaparral leaves. The old Mexican lay upon a blanket on the grass, already in a stupor from his mescal, and dreaming, perhaps, of the nights when he and Pizarro touched glasses to their New World fortunes--so old his wrinkled face seemed to proclaim him to be. And in the door of the _jacal_ stood Tonia. And Lieutenant Sandridge sat in his saddle staring at her like a gannet [68] agape at a sailorman. [FOOTNOTE 68: gannet--a large sea bird] The Cisco Kid was a vain person, as all eminent and successful assassins are, and his bosom would have been ruffled had he known that at a simple exchange of glances two persons, in whose minds he had been looming large, suddenly abandoned (at least for the time) all thought of him. Never before had Tonia seen such a man as this. He seemed to be made of sunshine and blood-red tissue and clear weather. He seemed to illuminate the shadow of the pear when he smiled, as though the sun were rising again. The men she had known had been small and dark. Even the Kid, in spite of his achievements, was a stripling no larger than herself, with black, straight hair and a cold, marble face that chilled the noonday.