“Pat!” she cried. “Pat! It’s Pat!” Then she glanced to the rear. “Adele! Sam! It’s Pat! Come, quick!”
Stephen spurred on with the others. He galloped after this hard-riding girl–so intensely alive–a girl past his understanding. Over dunes and across flats he charged, followed closely by the others, urging his horse to his utmost. But, try as he might, he could not overtake her or even lessen the distance between them, so furious was her race for her lost horse. Finally he burst out upon the trail and drew rein beside her, standing with the others in the path of an oncoming wood-wagon, anxiously awaiting its slow approach.
It was a curious outfit. One of the team, an aged and decrepit horse, was laboring along with head drooping and hoofs scuffling the trail, while beside it, with head erect and nostrils aquiver and hoofs lifting eagerly, stepped the glorious Pat! Both horses were draped in a disreputable harness, crudely patched with makeshift string and wire, and both were covered with a fine coating of dust. Atop all this, high and mighty upon an enormous load of wood, sat a Mexican, complacently smoking a cigarette and contentedly swinging his heels, evidently elated with this prospect of parading his horse before a group of Americans. But as he drew close a look of uneasiness crept over him, and he pulled up his team and shrugged his shoulders, as a preliminary, no doubt, to disappearance behind the Mexican shield of “No sabe!”
Helen swung close to him. There was a choice between a contest and diplomatic concession. She decided to offer to purchase the horse at once, believing this to be the easiest way out of the trouble.
“Señor,” she began in Spanish, “deseo comprar aquel caballo negro. Puedo pagar cualquire cantidad razonable por el. Se perdio y nosotros lo cuidamos, y he aprendido a quererlo mucho. Si usted quiere venderlo me haria un gran favor. Siento mucho que me lo hayan quitado.”
The Mexican looked relieved. He slowly removed his hat with true Castilian courtesy.
“Señorita,” he replied, “lo venderia con gusto pero pienso que me paga lo que quiero por el.”
Which delighted Helen. “Pagare lo que sea.”
The Mexican hesitated a moment. “¿Pagara cuarenta pesos?” he asked, finally. “Yo tambien quiero al caballo mucho,” he added. “Pero por cuarenta pesos pienso–pienso que lo olvido.” And he grinned.
Helen turned to the others. For Stephen’s benefit she explained what had been said, and the men promptly offered to make up the required forty dollars. Helen turned to the Mexican, accepted his price, and requested him to release Pat from the harness. Whereat the Mexican smiled broadly; shrugged his shoulders suddenly; forgot his rôle of “No sabe.”