winter rains.  To his signal relief, Farrel asked him no embarrassing questions regarding the identity of the extremely kind-hearted person who was financing him; he noticed that his young friend appeared a trifle pre-occupied and depressed.  And well he might be.  The secret knowledge that he was obligated to Kay Parker to the extent of the cost of this dam was irritating to his pride; while he felt that her loving interest and sympathy, so tremendously manifested, was in itself a debt he would always rejoice in because he never could hope to repay it, it did irk him to be placed in the position of never being able to admit his knowledge of her action.  He prayed that Bill Conway would be enabled to complete the dam as per his contract; that Judge Morton would then rush to trial Conway’s suit for damages against Parker for non-performance of contract; that Conway would be enabled immediately to reimburse himself through Parker’s assets which he had attached, repay Kay and close the transaction.

On November fifteenth Danny Leighton announced that Panchito was “right on edge” and, with a few weeks of experience in professional company, fit to make the race of his career.  The winter meeting was already on at Tia Juana and, with Farrel’s consent, Panchito was lovingly deposited in a well-padded crate mounted on a motor truck and transported to El Toro.  Here he was loaded in an express car and, guarded by Don Mike, shipped not to Tia Juana, as Parker and his trainer both supposed he would be, but to San Diego, sixteen miles north of the international boundary—­a change of plan originating with Farrel and by him kept a secret from Parker and Danny Leighton.  With Panchito went an ancient Saratoga trunk, Pablo Artelan, and little Allesandro Trujillo, ragged and bare-footed as usual.

Upon arriving in San Diego Don Mike unloaded Panchito at the Santa Fe depot.  Gone now were the leg bandages and the beautiful blanket with which Danny Leighton had furnished Panchito at starting.  These things proclaimed the race-horse, and that was not part of Don Mike’s plan.  He led the animal to a vacant lot a few blocks from the depot and, leaving him there in charge of Pablo, went up town to the Mexican consulate and procured passports into Baja California for himself and Allesandro.  From the consulate he went to a local stock-yard and purchased a miserable, flea-bitten, dejected saddle mule, together with a dilapidated old stock saddle with a crupper, and a well-worn horse-hair hackamore.

Returning to the depot, he procured his old Saratoga trunk from the station master and removed from it the beautiful black-leather, hand-carved, silver-mounted stock saddle he had won at a rodeo some years previous; a pair of huge, heavy, solid silver Mexican spurs, with tan carved-leathern straps, and a finely plaited hand-made rawhide bridle, sans throat-latch and brow-band and supporting a long, cruel, solid silver Spanish bit, with silver chain chin-strap and heavily embossed.  In this gear he arrayed Panchito, and then mounted him.  Allesandro mounted the flea-bitten mule, the old Saratoga trunk was turned over to Pablo, and with a fervent “Adios, Don Miguel.  Go with God!” from the old majordomo, Don Mike and his little companion rode south through the city toward the international boundary.