“Oh, I didn’t mean to insinuate that he did,” said Darry, hastily.
They walked down to the long, low stable and the head hostler brought forth a number of the horses. Enrique Morano pointed out a big bay.
“That is the fellow,” he said. “I can ride him, but he may prove too much for you.”
“Let me try him,” pleaded Darry.
The bay was saddled, and the youth leaped up, whip in hand. The horse pranced about a bit but soon set off at an easy gait. The step is called the trote de paseo, and is natural to the steeds in all upper South America.
“Why he’s easy,” sang out the boy, after riding up and down the horse yard and out to the highway and back. “I am sure I won’t have a bit of trouble with him.”
“He rides with confidence and well,” observed Enrique Morano. “He ought to have no trouble on the road.”
The matter was talked over, and finally Darry was allowed to ride the bay horse, which rejoiced in the name of El Montero—The Huntsman. The others were quickly provided with steeds, and a little later they left the plantation, Enrique Morano leading the way on a favorite black.
For a long distance the road was level and they moved off in a close bunch. Every one of the party had learned to ride years before, so there was no delay on that score. Mark and Frank wanted to race, but the professor would not hear of it.
Presently they crossed a heavy stone bridge, bearing this inscription: