CHAPTER XXXI

John Parker’s boredom had been cured by a stop-watch.  One week after Panchito had given evidence of his royal breeding, Parker’s old trainer, Dan Leighton, arrived at the Palomar.  Formerly a jockey, he was now in his fiftieth year, a wistful little man with a puckered, shrewd face, which puckered more than usual when Don Mike handed him Panchito’s pedigree.

“He’s a marvelous horse, Danny,” Parker assured the old trainer.

“No thanks to him.  He ought to be,” Leighton replied.  His cool glance measured Allesandro Trujillo, standing hard by.  “I’ll have that dusky imp for an exercise boy,” he announced.  “He’s built like an aeroplane—­all superstructure and no solids.”

For a month the training of Panchito went on each morning.  Pablo’s grandson, under Danny Leighton’s tuition, proved an excellent exercise boy.  He learned to sit his horse in the approved jockey fashion; proud beyond measure at the part he was playing, he paid strict attention to Leighton’s instructions and progressed admirably.

Watching the horse develop under skilled scientific training, it occurred to Don Mike each time he held his father’s old stop-watch on Panchito that race-horses had, in a great measure, conduced to the ruin of the Noriagas and Farrels, and something told him that Panchito was likely to prove the instrument for the utter financial extinction of the last survivor of that famous tribe.  “If he continues to improve,” Farrel told himself, “he’s worth a bet—­and a mighty heavy one.  Nevertheless, Panchito’s grandfather, leading his field by six open lengths in the home-stretch, going strong and a sure-fire winner, tangled his feet, fell on his nose and cost my father a thousand steers six months before they were ready for market.  I ought to leave John Parker to do all the betting on Panchito, but—­well, he’s a race-horse—­and I’m a Farrel.”

“When will Panchito be ripe to enter in a mile and a sixteenth race?” he asked Parker.

“About the middle of November.  The winter meeting will be on at Tia Juana, Baja California, then, and Leighton wants to give him a few try-outs there in fast company over a much shorter course.  We will win with him in a field of ordinary nags and we will be careful not to win too far or too spectacularly.  We have had his registry brought up to date and of course you will be of record as his owner.  In view of our plans, it would never do for Danny and me to be connected with him in any way.”

Don Mike nodded and rode over to Agua Caliente Basin to visit Bill Conway.  Mr. Conway was still on the job, albeit Don Mike hazarded a guess that the old schemer had spent almost two hundred thousand dollars.  His dam was, as he facetiously remarked, “taking concrete shape,” and he was rushing the job in order to have the structure thoroughly dry and “set” against the coming of the