Also, rage had poured him full of such
strength that through the dust cloud she caught again glimpses of that
first perfection.
He came at last to a stop, but he faced his owner with a look of steady
hate. The latter returned the gaze with interest, stroking his face and
snarling: "Once more, red devil, eh? Once more you miss? Bah! But I, I
shall not miss!"
It was not as one will talk to a dumb beast, for there was no mistaking
the vicious earnestness of Cordova, and now the girl made out that he
was caressing a long, white scar which ran from his temple across the
cheekbone. Marianne glanced away, embarrassed, as people are when
another reveals a dark and hidden portion of his character.
"You see?" said Cordova, "you would not be happy in the corral with him,
eh?"
He rolled a cigarette with smiling lips as he spoke, but all the time
his black eyes burned at the chestnut. He seemed to Marianne half child
and half old man, and both parts of him were evil now that she could
guess the whole story. Cordova campaigned through the country, racing
his horse at fairs or for side bets. For two reasons he kept the animal
systematically undernourished: one was that he was thereby able to get
better odds; the other was that only on a weakened Alcatraz would he
trust himself.
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