"One has to die before his virtues are apparent to some people," Farrel murmured philosophically. "And now that Don Mike Farrel is dead, you hope to acquire Panchito, eh?"
"I am aware that what I am about to say is but poor return for your sweet courtesy, but I feel that you might as well begin now to abandon all hope of ever owning Panchito."
"I--I hate to tell you this, but the fact is--I'm going to acquire him."
She shook, her head and smiled at him--the superior smile of one quite conscious of her strength.
"He is to be sold at public auction," she informed him. "And the man who outbids me for that horse will have to mortgage his ranch and borrow money on his Liberty Bonds."
"We shall see that which we shall see," he returned, enigmatically. "Waiter, bring me my check, please."
While the waiter was counting out the change from a twenty-dollar bill, Farrel resumed his conversation with the girl.
"Do you plan to remain in the San Gregorio very long?"
He rose from his chair and bowed to her with an Old-World courtliness.
"Once more I thank you for your kindness to me, _señorita_," he said. "It is a debt that I shall always remember--and rejoice because I can never repay it. I dare say we shall meet again in the very near future, and when we do, I am going to arrange matters so that I may have the honor of being properly introduced." He pocketed his change. "Until some day in the San Gregorio, then," he finished, "_adios_!"
Despite his smile, her woman's intuition told her that something more poignant than the threatened Japanese invasion of the San Gregorio valley had cast a shadow over his sunny soul. She concluded it must have been the news of the death of his childhood chum, the beloved Don Mike.
"What a wonderful fellow Don Mike must have been!" she mused. "White men sing his praises, and Indians and mixed breeds cry them. No wonder this ex-soldier plans to outbid me for Panchito. He attaches a sentimental value to the horse because of his love for poor Don Mike. I wonder if I ought to bid against him under the circumstances. Poor dear! He wants his buddy's horse so badly. He's really very nice--so old-fashioned and sincere. And he's dreadfully good-looking."
"Nature was overgenerous with that young lady," Farrel decided, as he made his way up to the smoking-car. "As a usual thing, she seldom dispenses brains with beauty--and this girl has both. I wonder who she can be? Well, she's too late for Panchito. She may have any other horse on the ranch, but--"