"Never mind what for, compadre. I didn't ask old Gabriel what for when he sent me," grumbled the messenger.
"Why didn't you say for Pasquale?" The young man was preparing his rope swiftly and efficiently. "Did the general say what horses?"
"He named the roan with the white stockings and the white-nosed buckskin."
"Then he's going to travel fast and far. Why, in the devil's name, since he is going to be married in the morning?"
"Why does the general always do what isn't expected? The saints know. I don't," growled Steve.
Both of them were expert ropers. In five minutes the American was swallowed in the darkness. He was astride the bare back of the buckskin and was leading the other ponies. As soon as he knew he was safely out of sight and hearing, he deflected toward the corral.
His friends were waiting for him anxiously. Steve dropped lightly to the ground.
"Hold the horses a minute, Frank," he said.
Striding to a feed-stall filled with alfalfa, he tossed the hay aside and dragged to the light a saddle. Presently he uncovered a second, a third, and a fourth.
"Brought them here last night—stole them from the storehouse," he explained casually.