CHAPTER XXX
The following day Don Mike, Pablo and the latter's male relatives, whohad so mysteriously appeared on the premises, were early ahorse,driving to El Toro the three hundred-odd head of cattle of all ages andsizes rounded up on the Palomar. The cattle were corraled at a ranchhalf-way to El Toro the first night, and there watered and fed; thefollowing night they were in the cattle pens at El Toro, and thefollowing day Farrel loaded them aboard the cars and shipped them outto Los Angeles, accompanying the shipment personally. Two days laterhe was back on the ranch, and the Parkers noticed that his exuberantspirits had not in the least subsided.
"I'd give a ripe peach to know what that fellow is up to," John Parkercomplained. "Confidentially, I've had him shadowed from the moment hearrived in Los Angeles until the moment he returned to El Toro andstarted back for the ranch. He has conferred with nobody except thestock-yard people. Nevertheless, he has a hen on."
"Yes, and that hen will hatch a young bald-headed eagle to scratch youreyes out," his daughter reminded him, whereat he chuckled.
"Old Bill Conway's drilling away at his dam-site," he volunteeredpresently, "and his suit against me for damages, due to breach ofcontract, is set for trial so far down Judge Morton's calendar that theold judge will have to use a telescope to find it. However, Ishouldn't charge the judge with a lack of interest in my affairs, forhe has rendered a judgment in my favor in the matter of that mortgageforeclosure and announced from the bench that if this judgment doesn'tstick he'll throw the case out of court the next time it is presentedfor trial. I wonder what Farrel's next move will be?"
"I heard him announce that he was going to get ready for the _fiesta_,"Kay replied.
For two weeks he was busy harrowing, disking and rolling the oldrace-track; he repainted the weather-beaten poles and reshingled thejudge's stand; he repaired the fence and installed an Australianstarting-gate, dug a pit for the barbecue and brought forth, repairedand set up under the oaks close to the race-tracks, thirty long woodentables at which, in an elder and more romantic day, the entirecountryside, as guests of the Farrels and Noriagas, had gathered tofeast. Farrel worked hard and saw but little of his guests, except atmeal-times; he retired somewhat early each night and, insofar as hisguests could note, he presented a most commendable example of a youngman whose sole interest in life lay in his work.
"When do you plan to give your _fiesta_, Miguel?" Kay inquired oneevening as they sat, according to custom, on the veranda.
"In about a month," he replied. "I've got to fatten my steers andharden them on a special diet before we barbecue them. Don NicolasSandoval will have charge of the feast, and if I furnished him withthin, tough range steers, he'd charge me with modernism and disown me.Old Bill Conway never would forget it. He'd nag me to my grave."
"When do we give Panchito his try-out, Don Mike?"
"The track is ready for it now, Kay, and Pablo tells me Panchito'shalf-brother is now a most dutiful member of society and can get therein a hurry when he's sent for. But he's only a half thoroughbred.Shall we start training to-morrow?"
"Oh, goody. By all means."
The long and patient methods of education to which a green race-horseis subjected were unknown on the Rancho Palomar. Panchito was atrained saddle animal, wise, sensible, courageous and with a prodigiousfaith that his rider would get him safely out of any jam into whichthey might blunder together. The starting-gate bothered him at first,but after half a dozen trials, he realized that the web, flying upward,had no power to hurt him and was, moreover, the signal for a short,jolly contest of speed with his fellows of the rancho. Before the weekwas out he was "breaking" from the barrier with speed and serenity bornof the knowledge that this was exactly what was expected of him;whereupon the other horses that Don Mike used to simulate a field ofcompetitors, took heart of hope at Panchito's complacency and brokerather well with him.
Those were long, lazy days on the Palomar. June had cast its witheringsmile upon the San Gregorio and the green hills had turned to a parchedbrown. Grasshoppers whirred everywhere; squirrels whistled; occasionallittle dust-devils whirled up the now thoroughly dry river-bed and theatmosphere was redolent of the aroma of dust and tarweed. Pablo andhis dusky relatives, now considerably augmented (albeit Don Mike hadissued no invitation to partake of his hospitality), trained colts asroping horses or played Mexican monte in the shade of the help'squarters. Occasionally they roused themselves long enough to justifytheir inroads upon Don Mike's groceries by harvesting a forty-acrefield of alfalfa and irrigating it for another crop, for which purposea well had been sunk in the bed of the dry San Gregorio.
The wasted energies of these peons finally commenced to irritate JohnParker.
"How long are you going to tolerate the presence of this healthy lot of_cholo_ loafers and grafters, Farrel?" he demanded one day. "Have youany idea of what it is costing you to support that gang?"
"Yes," Farrel replied. "About ten dollars a day."
"You cannot afford that expense."
"I know it. But then, they're the local color, they've always been andthey will continue to be while I have title to this ranch. Why, theirhearts would be broken if I refused them permission to nestle under thecloak of my philanthropy, and he is a poor sort of white man who willdisappoint a poor devil of a _cholo_."
"You're absolutely incomprehensible," Parker declared.
Farrel laughed. "You're not," he replied. "Know anything about astop-watch?"
"I know _all_ about one."
"Well, your daughter has sent to San Francisco for the best stop-watchmoney can buy, and it's here. I've had my father's old stop-watchcleaned and regulated. Panchito's on edge and we're going to give hima half-mile tryout to-morrow, so I want two stop-watches on him. Willyou oblige, sir?"
Parker willingly consented, and the following morning Farrel and hisguests repaired to the race-track. Kay, mounted on Panchito in racinggear, was, by courtesy, given a position next to the rail. Eightypounds of dark meat, answering to the name of Allesandro Trujillo andclaiming Pablo Artelan as his grandfather, drew next position onPeep-sight, as Farrel had christened Panchito's half-brother, whilethree other half-grown _cholo_ youths, gathered at random here andthere, faced the barrier on the black mare, the old gray roping horseand a strange horse belonging to one of the volunteer jockeys.
There was considerable backing, filling and some bucking at thebarrier, and Pablo and two of his relatives, acting as starters, werekept busy straightening out the field. Finally, with a shrill yip,Pablo released the web and the flighty young Peep-sight was away infront, with the black mare's nose at his saddle-girth and the fieldspread out behind him, with Panchito absolutely last.
At the quarter-pole Kay had worked her mount easily up through the ruckto contend with Peep-sight. The half-thoroughbred was three years oldand his muscles had been hardened by many a wild scramble up and downthe hills of El Palomar; he was game, he was willing, and for half amile he was marvelously fast, as Farrel had discovered early in thetryouts. Indeed, as a "quarter-horse" Farrel knew that few horsesmight beat the comparatively green Peep-sight and he had beenindiscreet enough to make that statement in the presence of youthfulAllesandro Trujillo, thereby filling that young hopeful with atremendous ambition to race the famed Panchito into submission for themere sport of a race.
In a word, Allesandro's Indian blood was up. If there was anything heloved, it was a horse-race for money, chalk, marbles or fun. Thereforewhen a quick glance over his shoulder showed Panchito's blazed face atPeep-sight's rump, Allesandro clucked to his mount, gathered the reinsa trifle tighter and dug his dirty bare heels into Peep-sight's ribs,for he was riding bareback, as an Indian should. Peep-sight respondedto the invitation with such alacrity that almost instantly he hadopened a gap of two full lengths between himself and Kay on Panchito.
Farrel and Parker, holding their stop-watches, watched the race fromthe judge's stand.
"By Jove, that Peep-sight _is_ a streak
," Parker declared admiringly."He can beat Panchito at that distance, even at proportionate weightsand with an even break at the start."
Farrel nodded, his father's old racing-glass fixed on Allesandro andKay. The girl had "gathered" her mount; she was leaning low on hispowerful neck and Farrel knew that she was talking to him, riding himout as he had never been ridden before. And he was responding. Footby foot he closed the distance that Peep-sight had opened up, butwithin a hundred yards of the finish Allesandro again called upon hismount for some more of the same, and the gallant Peep-sight flattenedhimself perceptibly and held his own; nor could Panchito's greatestefforts gain upon the flying half-breed a single inch.
"Bully for the Indian kid," Parker yelled. "Man, man, that's a horserace."
"They'll never stop at the half-mile pole," Farrel laughed. "That racewill be won by Panchito when Panchito wins it. Ah, I told you so."
"Well, Peep-sight wins at the half by one open length--and the _cholo_boy is using a switch on him!"
"He's through. Panchito is gaining on him. He'll pass him at thethree-quarter pole."
"Right-o, Farrel. Panchito wins by half a length at the three-quarterpole--"
"I wish Kay would pull him up," Farrel complained. "He's gone too faralready and there she is still heading for home like the devil beatingtan-bark . . . well, if she breaks him down she's going to be out thegrandest saddle animal in the state of California. That's all I haveto say. . . . Kay, Kay, girl, what's the matter with you? Pull him up. . . by the blood of the devil, she can't pull him up. She's broken arein and he's making a run of it on his own."
"Man, look at that horse go."
"Man, look at him come!"
Panchito had swung into the home-stretch, his white face and whitefront legs rising and falling with the strong, steady rhythm of thehorse whose stout heart refuses to acknowledge defeat, the horse whostill has something left for a supreme effort at the finish.
"There is a true race-horse," Parker cried exultantly. "I once won aten-thousand-dollar purse with a dog that wasn't fit to appear on thesame track with that Panchito."
The big chestnut thudded by below them, stretched to the limit of hisendurance, passed what would have been the finish had the race been amile and a sixteenth, and galloped up the track with the brokenbridle-rein dangling. He slowed down as he came to the other horses inthe race, now jogging back to the judge's stand, and one of the _cholo_youths spurred alongside of him, caught the dangling rein and led himback to the judge's stand.
Kay's face was a little bit white as she smiled up at her father andFarrel. "The old darling ran away with me," she called.
Farrel was instantly at her side and had lifted her out of the saddle.She clung to him for the barest moment, trembling with fear andexcitement, before turning to examine Panchito, from whom Pablo hadalready stripped the saddle. He was badly blown, as trembly as thegirl herself, and dripping with sweat, but when Pablo slipped theheadstall on him and commenced to walk him up and down to "cool himout," Don Mike's critical eye failed to observe any evil effects fromthe long and unaccustomed race.
John Parker came down out of the grand stand, his thumb still tightlypressing the stem of his stop-watch, which he thrust under Farrel'snose.
"Look, you star-spangled ignoramus, look," he yelled. "You own a horsethat's fit to win the Melbourne Cup or the American Derby, and youdon't know it. What do you want for him? Give you ten thousand forhim this minute--and I am not so certain that race hasn't hurt him."
"Oh, I don't want to sell Panchito. I can make this ranch pay tenthousand dollars, but I cannot breed another Panchito on it."
"Farrel, if you refuse to sell me that horse I'm going to sit rightdown here and weep. Son, I don't know a soul on earth who can usetwelve--yes, fifteen--thousand dollars handier than you can."
Don Mike smiled his lazy, tantalizing smile. "I might as well be brokeas the way I am," he protested. "What's a paltry fifteen thousanddollars to a man who needs half a million? Mr. Parker, my horse is notfor sale at any price."
"You mean that?"
"Absolutely."
John Parker sighed. Since that distant day when he had decided that hecould afford such a luxury, his greatest delight had been in owning and"fussing" with a few really great race-horses. He had owned somefamous sprinters, but his knowledge of the racing game had convincedhim that, could he but acquire Panchito, he would be the owner of atrue king of the turf. The assurance that, with all his great wealth,this supreme delight was denied him, was a heavy blow.
Kay slipped her arm through his. "Don't cry, pa, please! We'll waituntil Don Mike loses all his sheep and cow money and then we'll buyPanchito for a song."
"Oh, Kay, little girl, that horse is a peach. I think I'd give acouple of toes for the fun of getting my old trainer Dan Leighton outhere, training this animal quietly up here in the valley where nobodycould get a line on his performances, then shipping him east toSaratoga, where I'd put a good boy on him, stick him in rotten companyand win enough races to qualify him for the biggest event of the year.And then! Oh, how I would steal the Derby from John H. Hatfield andhis four-year-old wonder. I owe Hatfield a poke anyhow. We wentraiding together once and the old sinner double-crossed me."
"Who is John H. Hatfield?" Don Mike queried mildly.
"Oh, he's an aged sinner down in Wall Street. He works hard to makethe New Yorkers support his racing stables. Poor old John! All he hasis some money and one rather good horse."
"And you wish to police this Hatfield person, sir?"
"If I could, I'd die happy, Farrel."
"Very well. Send for your old trainer, train Panchito, try him out abit at Tia Juana, Lower California, at the meeting this winter, shiphim to Saratoga and make Senor Hatfield curse the day he was born. Ihave a very excellent reason for not selling Panchito to you, but neverlet it be said that I was such a poor sport I refused to loan him toyou--provided, of course, Kay agrees to this course. He's her mount,you know, while she's on El Palomar."
Parker turned to his daughter. "Kay," he demanded, "do you love yourpoor old father?"
"Yes, I do, pa, but you can't have Panchito until you do something forme."
"Up jumped the devil! What do you want?"
"If you accept a favor from Miguel Farrel you ought to be sport enoughto grant him one. If you ever expect to see Panchito in your racingcolors out in front at the American Derby, Miguel must have a renewalof his mortgage."
"Oh, the devil take that mortgage. You and your mother never give me amoment's peace about it. You make me feel like a criminal; it'sgetting so I'll have to sit around playing mumbley-peg in order to geta thrill in my old age. You win, Kay. Farrel, I will grant you arenewal of the mortgage. I'm weary of being a Shylock."
"Thanks ever so much. I do not desire it, Mr. Parker. One of thesebright days when I get around to it, and provided luck breaks my way,I'll take up that mortgage before the redemption period expires. Ihave resolved to live my life free from the shadow of an accursedmortgage. Let me see, now. We were talking about horse-racing, werewe not?"
"Miguel Farrel, you'd anger a sheep," Parker cried wrathfully, andstrode away toward his automobile waiting in the infield. Kay and DonMike watched him drive straight across the valley to the road and turnin the direction of El Toro.
"Wilder than a March hare," Don Mike commented.
"Not at all," Kay assured him. "He's merely risking his life in hishaste to reach El Toro and telegraph Dan Leighton to reportimmediately."