She nodded.
"She'll do," Parker assured him proudly.
Farrel confirmed this verdict with a nod and opened the gate. They rode
through. Kay waited for him to close the gate. He saw that she had
been, captivated by Panchito, and as their glances met, his smile was a
reflection of hers--a smile thoroughly and childishly happy.
"If you'd only sell him to me, Don Mike," she pleaded. "I'll give you a
ruinous price for him."
"He is not for sale, Miss Kay."
"But you were going to give him away to your late battery commander!"
He held up his right hand with the red scar on the back of it, but made
no further reply.
"Why will you not sell him to me?" she pleaded. "I want him so."
"I love him," he answered at that, "and I could only part with him--for
love. Some day, I may give him to somebody worth while, but for the
present I think I shall be selfish and continue to own him. He's a big,
powerful animal, and if he can carry weight in a long race, he's fast
enough to make me some money."
"Let me ride him in the try-out," she pleaded. "I weigh just a hundred
and twenty."
"Very well. To-morrow I'll hitch up a work-team, and disk the heart out
of our old race-track-- Oh, yes; we have such a thing"--in reply to her
lifted brows. "My grandfather Mike induced my great-grandfather Noriaga
to build it way back in the 'Forties. The Indians and _vaqueros_ used to
run scrub races in those days--in fact, it was their main pastime.
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