The man shook his head. "My horse has carried me a hundred miles to-day, and yet he is ready to bear me farther. With such a mount I can find food for myself and fodder for him, easily, when night falls. Hear now his song? Drumlummon skirls a merry note."
With a laugh the bearded man arose. The screaming neigh of a stallion was echoing among the buildings of the hacienda.
"My horse is ready for the road. I thank you for your hospitality just the same. Adios, noble Administrator."
"Wait, good Señor O'Donnell. A glass of wine makes readier the foot for the stirrup."
He touched a bell. A peon came, and disappeared on his errand.
"Tell me, señor, while the wine is coming, do you know this Englishman of whom you speak as Farquharson?"
"Several years ago I saw Captain Farquharson considerably," tersely.
"Ah, Señor O'Donnell, you too are a soldier, as your bearing shows. You speak of your friend as Captain Farquharson. Perhaps you were brother officers in English service. Is it so?"
"No," hoarsely replied O'Donnell in English, "it was not so. I thought I'd done for the fellow that day on the parade ground——"
As he did not continue Señor Mendoza said: "Ah, my friend O'Donnell speaks the English. I have studied your language and I read your books," indicating a shelf on which were a number of works by English historians and political economists. "Ah, here comes the wine."