“Well, if you think it’s funny, so do I. Any sorrow I felt at your cook’s incarceration was due to my apprehension as to your feelings, not his.”

“What a fearful rage he is in, Don Mike!”

“Oh, well, he can help himself to the fruit of our famous lime-tree and get sweet again.  Pablo, you russet scoundrel, no more rough stuff if you know what’s good for you.  Where is Panchito?”

“I leave those horse loose in the pasture,” Pablo replied, a whit abashed.  “I like for see if those horse he got some brains like before you go ride heem.  For long time Panchito don’ hear hees boss call heem.  Mebbeso he forget—­no?”

“We shall see, Pablo.”

XII

They walked out to the barn.  In a little green field in the oak-studded valley below, a dozen horses were feeding.  Farrel whistled shrilly.  Instantly, one of the horses raised his head and listened.  Again Farrel whistled, and a neigh answered him as Panchito broke from the herd and came galloping up the slope.  When his master whistled again, the gallop developed into a furious burst of speed; whereat Farrel slipped inside the barn and shut the door, while round and round the barn Panchito galloped, seeking the lost master.

Suddenly Don Miguel emerged and, with little affectionate nickerings, the beautiful animal trotted up to him, ran his head over the master’s shoulder, and rubbed his sleek cheek against the man’s.  Farrel nuzzled him and rubbed him lovingly between the ears before producing a lump of sugar.  Upon command, Panchito squatted on his hind quarters like a dog and held his head out stiffly.  Upon his nose Farrel balanced the lump of sugar, backed away, and stood in front of him.  The horse did not move.  Suddenly Farrel snapped his fingers.  With a gentle toss of his head, Panchito threw the lump of sugar in the air and made a futile snap at it as it came down.  Then he rose, picked the lump up carefully, and, holding it between his lips, advanced and proffered his master a bite.

“Oh, you eat it yourself!” Farrel cried, and reached for the horse’s unkempt mane.  With the ease of long practice, he swung aboard the horse and, at the touch of his heels, Panchito bounded away.  Far down the mesa he raced, Farrel guiding him with his knees; then back and over the six-foot corral-fence with something of the airy freedom of a bird.  In the corral, Farrel slid off, ran with the galloping animal for fifty feet, grasping his mane, and sprang completely over him, ran fifty feet more and sprang back, as nimbly as a monkey.  Panchito was galloping easily, steadily, now, at a trained gait, like a circus horse, so Farrel sat sideways on him and discarded his boots, after which he stood erect on the smooth, glossy back and rode him, first on one foot, then on the other.  Next he sat down on the animal again and clapped his hands.

“Panchito, my boots!” he ordered.  But Panchito only pinned his ears and shook his head.  “You see,” Farrel called to Kay, “he is a gentleman, and declines to perform a menial service.  But I shall force him.  Panchito, you rebel, pick up my boots and hand them to me.”