We have many other
good horses on the Palomar. This one's name is Panchito; I will express
him to you some day this week."
"Farrel, you quite overwhelm me. A thousand thanks! I'll treasure
Panchito for your sake as well as his own."
The soldier extended his hand, and the captain grasped it.
"Good-by, Sergeant. Pleasant green fields!"
"Good-by, sir. Dry camps and quick promotion."
The descendant of a _conquistador_ picked up his straw suitcase, his
helmet, and gas-mask. At the door, he stood to attention, and saluted.
The captain leaped to his feet and returned this salutation of warriors;
the door opened and closed, and the officer stood staring at the space so
lately occupied by the man who, for eighteen months, had been his right
hand.
"Strange man!" he muttered. "I didn't know they bred his kind any more.
Why, he's a feudal baron!"
III
There were three people in the observation-car when Michael Joseph
Farrel boarded it a few minutes before eight o'clock the following
morning. Of the three, one was a girl, and, as Farrel entered,
carrying the souvenirs of his service--a helmet and gas-mask--she
glanced at him with the interest which the average civilian manifests
in any soldier obviously just released from service and homeward bound.
Farrel's glance met hers for an instant with equal interest; then he
turned to stow his impedimenta in the brass rack over his seat.
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