"Why, what's up, Felipe?" said Stephens, surprised at being roused by this request in the middle of the night. "What do you want with it? What makes you come bothering me now?"
"Oh, please don't be angry, but lend it me," pleaded the boy. "I will bring it you back, and I know you don't want it; you never use it."
"What mischief are you after?" said Stephens. "You want to go off sweethearting somewhere—that's what it is, you young rascal. That's what you wanted my mare for to-day. I know what you are up to."
"Oh, Don Estevan," begged the boy,—"the saddle, please. If you won't lend it to me, sell it to me. I have money,—five dollars."
"Hold on till I strike a light, and shut the door, will you?" said Stephens. "Lie down, Faro, and be quiet." The prospector got out of bed, struck a match, and lit a candle. "You're a pretty sort of fellow, to come roaming around this time of night!" he went on as, candle in hand, he stepped cautiously across the floor in his bare feet to the door of the inner room, which he unlocked. "Sensible people are in bed and asleep at this time of night," he grumbled. "Come in here and get your saddle."
Felipe followed him instantly to the storeroom where he kept his powder-keg, mining-tools, pack-saddles, and provisions.
"There it is," said Stephens, pointing to an old saddle hanging by one stirrup from a peg in the wall. "Get it down. And the bridle; yes, that's it"—and the pair emerged again into the outer room.
Stephens locked the door again, and turning round encountered Felipe's hand with a five-dollar bill in it. "Here it is, Don Estevan; five dollars," said the young Indian.
"Tut, tut, I don't want your money," said the American cheerfully. "Keep it or give to your sweetheart to keep for you. She'll do that fast enough"—and he chuckled at his own wit. "Now don't you smash that saddle," he continued; "and mind you bring it back when you've done with it."