"Here he is, señor," said he modestly, handing Stephens the rope.
"Well done, Felipe," said Stephens. "You did that well. You do run like an antelope." He felt quite a glow of admiration for the athletic youth who stood panting before him, resting his hand on the mule's back.
"Now's my time," thought Felipe, "what luck!—oh, Don Estevan," he began, and then stopped with downcast eyes.
"Well, what is it?" said Stephens kindly.
"Oh, Don Estevan, if you would lend me your mare!" The murder was out, and Felipe looked up at his employer beseechingly. "I would take such care of her!" he continued; "I would indeed."
"Lend her for what?" said Stephens, a little taken aback. "What do you want with her?"
"I want her to go to Ensenada to-night," said the boy.
"Oh, but Felipe, I'm going to the sierra to-morrow to hunt, you know. It isn't possible. But," he continued, touched a little by the boy's evident distress, "what do you want to do there? Why don't you get your father's horse?"
"He's at the herd. My father doesn't let me," said Felipe despondently. Then he went on, "I thought perhaps you didn't go for a day or two. I will bring her back to-morrow in the night. And she shall not be tired—not a bit. Oh, do lend her to me! Please do!"
"I wonder what foolery he's up to now," said Stephens to himself; "I do hate to lend a horse anyhow—and to a harebrained Indian boy who'll just ride all the fat off her in no time. Cheek, I call it, of him to ask it."