"You are mad. Do you fancy you can reach it before midnight?" insisted the major-domo.
"I will, Rafael; I will."
"Then Heaven be with you."
But the old fellow's words were lost in a wild clatter of hoofs, as Felipe swung his pony around and drove home the spurs. Through the night came back a cry already faint:
"Adios, adios."
"Adios, Felipe," murmured the old man as he stood bewildered in the doorway, "and your good angel speed you now."
When Felipe began his ride it was already a little after nine. Could he reach Santa Teresa before midnight? The question loomed grim before him, but he answered only with the spur. Pépe was hardy, and, as Felipe well knew, of indomitable pluck. But what a task now lay before the little animal. He might do it, but oh! it was a chance!
In a quarter of a mile Pépe had settled to his stride, the dogged, even gallop that Felipe knew so well, and at half-past ten swung through the main street of Piedras Blancas—silent, somnolent, dark.
"Steady, little Pépe," said Felipe; "steady, little one. Soh, soh.
There."
The little horse flung back an ear, and Felipe could feel along the lines how he felt for the bit, trying to get a grip of it to ease the strain on his mouth.