His stern eyes softened in a glance of father-love supreme.
"Whose little girl are you?" he whispered, and, to that ancient query
of parenthood, she gave the reply of childhood:
"Daddy's."
"Just for that, I'll offer the soldier a tremendous profit on Panchito.
We'll see what his sentiment is worth."
"Bet you a new hat, angel-face, you haven't money enough to buy him,"
Kay challenged.
"Considering the cost of your hats, I'd be giving you rather long odds,
Kay. You say this young man comes from the San Gregorio valley?"
"So he informed me."
"Well, there isn't a young man in the San Gregorio who doesn't need a
couple of thousand dollars far worse than he needs a horse. I'll take
your bet, Peaches. Of course you mentioned to him the fact that you
wanted this horse?"
"Yes. And he said I couldn't have him--that he was going to acquire
him."
"Perhaps he was merely jesting with you."
"No; he meant it."
"I believe," he said, smiling, "that it is most unusual of young men to
show such selfish disregard of your expressed desires."
"Flatterer! I like him all the more for it. He's a man with some
backbone."
"So I noticed. He wears the ribbon of the Congressional Medal of
Honor. Evidently he is given to exceeding the speed-limit. Did he
tell you how he won that pale-blue ribbon with the little white stars
sprinkled on it?"
"He did not. Such men never discuss those things.
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