"From Kentucky." Was he unduly suspicious or was there a challenge in the Mexican officer's voice—a faint suggestion that the antecedents of both horse and owner were in question?
"Kentucky ..." Oliveri stumbled in his repetition of the word. "I have heard of Kentucky horses."
"Most people have." Drew tightened the cinch. Then his pride in Shiloh banished some of his stiffness. "He is of the line of Eclipse." Maybe that would not mean much to a Mexican, though. The breeding of eastern American horses probably did not register south of the border.
"Señor—such a one—he is not for sale?"
"No." Drew knew that sounded curt, but Oliveri ruffled him. He added, "One does not sell a friend."
Oliveri gave what sounded to Drew like an exaggerated sigh. "Señor, you have spoiled my day. How can one look at lesser animals when one has seen such a treasure? Don Cazar, the Range harbors so many treasures—Oro, and now this one. How is he named, señor?"
"Shiloh."
"Shiloh ..." The Coronel made a sibilant hiss of the word. "An Indio name?"
"No, a battle." Drew prepared to lead out. "In the war."
"So. And this one is a fighter, too. I think. Señor, should you ever wish to sell, por favor, remember one Luis Oliveri! For such a horse as this—sí, a man might give a fortune![pg 129] Ah, to ride into camp before that puffed-up gamecock of a Merinda on such a horse!" Oliveri closed his eyes as if better to imagine the triumph.