Indeed, as a "quarter-horse" Farrel knew that few horses
might beat the comparatively green Peep-sight and he had been
indiscreet enough to make that statement in the presence of youthful
Allesandro Trujillo, thereby filling that young hopeful with a
tremendous ambition to race the famed Panchito into submission for the
mere sport of a race.
In a word, Allesandro's Indian blood was up. If there was anything he
loved, it was a horse-race for money, chalk, marbles or fun. Therefore
when a quick glance over his shoulder showed Panchito's blazed face at
Peep-sight's rump, Allesandro clucked to his mount, gathered the reins
a trifle tighter and dug his dirty bare heels into Peep-sight's ribs,
for he was riding bareback, as an Indian should. Peep-sight responded
to the invitation with such alacrity that almost instantly he had
opened a gap of two full lengths between himself and Kay on Panchito.
Farrel and Parker, holding their stop-watches, watched the race from
the judge's stand.
"By Jove, that Peep-sight _is_ a streak," Parker declared admiringly.
"He can beat Panchito at that distance, even at proportionate weights
and with an even break at the start."
Farrel nodded, his father's old racing-glass fixed on Allesandro and
Kay. The girl had "gathered" her mount; she was leaning low on his
powerful neck and Farrel knew that she was talking to him, riding him
out as he had never been ridden before.
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