His inner turmoil of these last few days had banished all thought of the stallion of the San Luis. But now, his eyes gleamed as he quickened his steps toward the stable.
Farrish and Pete were at work among the stalls; Bill stood guard over Sunnysides; and the fourth man, Curly, was mending a saddle in the harness-room.
“Farrish!” Haig called out, striding into the stable. “We’ll tackle the yellow fellow this morning.”
Farrish and Pete turned, and looked at him curiously.
“All right!” answered Farrish; and then added doubtfully: “Now?”
“Yes. At once.”
Farrish, in a manner that showed a certain reluctance, put up the currycomb with which he had been grooming the sorrels, and started toward the rear door. But Pete stood still.
“You too, Pete!” said Haig, impatiently.
“I think you better not––to-day,” answered the Indian, in his slow way.
“Why?” snapped Haig.