Could it be that the devil was really going to fly away with his mule?
He dared not look up.
"Come now," continued the voice, "you just let up on that mule, you d----d old Greaser.

Don't you see she's slipped her shoulder ?" Alarmed as Concho was at the information, he could not help feeling to a certain extent relieved.

She was lamed, but had not lost her standing as a good Catholic.
He ventured to lift his eyes.

A stranger--an Americano from his dress and accent--was descending the rocks toward him.

He was a slight-built man with a dark, smooth face, that would have been quite commonplace and inexpressive but for his left eye, in which all that was villainous in him apparently centered.