A thought occurred to me, that promised to relieve me from my embarrassment. The eagerness of the rich Mexicans to obtain our large American horses—frisones, as they term them—was well known throughout the army. Fabulous prices were often paid for them by these ricos, who wanted them for display upon the Paseo. We had many good half-bred bloods in the troop; one of these, thought I, might be acceptable even to a lady who had lost her pet.
I made the offer as delicately as I could. It was rejected with scorn!
“What, señor!” cried she, striking the ground with her foot till the rowels rang—“what? A horse to me?—Mira!” she continued, pointing to the plain: “look there, sir! There are a thousand horses; they are mine. Now, know the value of your offer. Do I stand in need of a horse?”
“But, señorita,” stammered I apologisingly, “these are horses of native race. The one I propose to—”
“Bah!” she exclaimed, interrupting me, and pointing to the mustang; “I would not have exchanged that native for all the frisones in your troop. Not one of them was its equal!”
A personal slight would not have called forth a contradiction; yet this defiance had that effect. She had touched the chord of my vanity—I might almost say, of my affection. With some pique I replied—
“One, señorita?”
I looked towards Moro as I spoke. Her eyes followed mine, and she stood for some moments gazing at him in silence. I watched the expression of her eye; I saw it kindle into admiration as it swept over the gracefully curving outlines of my noble steed. He looked at the moment superb; the short skurry had drawn the foam from his lips, and flakes of it clung against his neck and counter, contrasting finely with the shining black of his skin; his sides heaved and fell in regular undulations, and the smoke issued from his blood-red nostrils; his eye was still on fire, and his neck proudly arched, as though conscious of his late triumph, and the interest he was now exciting.
For a long while she stood gazing upon him, and though she spoke not a word, I saw that she recognised his fine points.
“You are right, cavallero,” she said at length, and thoughtfully; “he is.”