"
"Where is this old race-track?"
"Down in the valley. A fringe of oaks hides it. It's grass-grown and it
hasn't been used in twenty-five years, except when the Indians in this
part of the country foregather in the valley occasionally and pull off
some scrub races."
"How soon can we put it in commission?" she demanded eagerly,
"I'll disk it to-morrow. The ground is soft now, after this recent rain.
Then I'll harrow it well and run a culti-packer over it--well, by the end
of the week it ought to be a fairly fast track."
"Goody! We'll go in to El Toro to-morrow and I'll wire to San Francisco
for a stop-watch. May I sprint Panchito a little across that meadow?"
"Wait a moment, Miss Kay. We shall have something to sprint after in a
few minutes, I think." As the hounds gave tongue in a path of willows
they had been investigating far to the right, Don Mike pulled up his
horse and listened. "Hot trail," he informed her. "They'll all be
babbling in a moment."
He was right.
"If it's a coyote, he'll sneak up the wash of the river," he informed the
girl, "but if it's a cat, he'll cut through that open space to tree in
the oaks beyond--Ha! There goes a mountain-lion. After him!"
His alert pony went from a halt to a gallop, following a long, lithe
tawny animal that loped easily into view, coming from the distant willow
thicket. In an instant, Kay was beside him.
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