"Why, you
old-fashioned young rascal!"--as Don Mike stooped and held out his hand.
She placed her left foot in it and was lifted lightly into the saddle.
When he had adjusted the stirrups to fit her, he turned to aid Kay, only
to discover that the gallant Panchito had already performed the honors
for that young lady by squatting until she could reach the stirrup
without difficulty.
Parker rode the gray horse, and Farrel had appropriated a pinto cow pony
that Pablo used when line-riding.
With the hounds questing ahead of them, the four jogged up the San
Gregorio, Don Mike leading the way, with Kay riding beside him. From
time to time she stole a sidelong glance at him, riding with his chin on
his breast, apparently oblivious of her presence. She knew that he was
not in a mood to be entertaining to-day, to be a carefree squire of
dames; his mind was busy grappling with problems that threatened not only
him but everything in life that he held to be worth while.
"Do we go through that gate?" the girl queried, pointing to a five-rail
gate in a wire fence that straggled across the valleys and up the
hillside.
He nodded.
"Of course you do not have to go through it," he teased her. "Panchito
can go over it. Pie for him. About five feet and a half."
"Enough for all practical purposes," she replied, and touched her
ridiculous little spurs to the animal's flank, took a firm grip on the
reins with both hands, and sat down firmly in the saddle.
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