Fortunately for him, there was no attempt at extortion. In the composition of the Mexican maiden, however much she might be given to equestrian tastes, there was not much of the “coper.” With five thousand horses in the paternal stables, or rather straying over the patrimonial plains, there was but slight motive for sharp practice; and why should she deny such trifling gratification, even though the man seeking it was a stranger—perhaps an enemy?
She did not.
“If you are in earnest, señor,” was her response, “you are welcome to what you want.”
“I am in earnest, señorita.”
“Take him, then!” said she, leaping out of her saddle, and commencing to undo the girths, “We cannot exchange saddles: yours would be a mile too big for me!”
Calhoun was too happy to find words for a rejoinder. He hastened to assist her in removing the saddle; after which he took off his own.
In less than five minutes the horses were exchanged—the saddles and bridles being retained by their respective owners.
To Isidora there was something ludicrous in the transference. She almost laughed while it was being carried on.
Calhoun looked upon it in a different light. There was a purpose present before his mind—one of the utmost importance.
They parted without much further speech—only the usual greetings of adieu—Isidora going off on the frison; while the ex-officer, mounted on the grey mustang, continued his course in the direction of Casa del Corvo.