"Nonsense, mother. That's mere old hop-Scotch for Panchito. One doesn't get a jumping-jack to ride every day, and all I've ever done has been to pussyfoot through Central Park."
"Do you mean to tell me you've never taken a hurdle before?" Don Mike was scandalized. She nodded.
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."
"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."
"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?"