For answer, Panchito threw his hind end aloft half a dozen times, and Kay’s silvery laugh echoed through the corral as Farrel, appearing to lose his seat, slid forward on the horse’s withers and clung with arms and legs round Panchito’s neck, emulating terror.  Thereupon, Panchito stood up on his hind legs, and Farrel, making futile clutchings at the horse’s mane, slid helplessly back; over his mount’s glossy rump and sat down rather solidly in the dust of the corral.

“Bravo!” the girl cried.  “Why, he’s a circus horse!”

“I’ve schooled him a little for trick riding at rodeos, Miss Parker.  We’ve carried off many a prize, and when I dress in the motley of a clown and pretend to ride him rough and do that silly slide, most people enjoy it.”

Farrel got up, recovered his boots, and put them on.

“He’ll do, the old humorist,” he announced, as he joined her.  “He hasn’t forgotten anything, and wasn’t he glad to see me again?  You use an English saddle, I dare say, and ride with a short stirrup?”

Panchito dutifully followed like a dog at heel to the tack-room, where Farrel saddled him and carefully fitted the bridle with the snaffle-bit.  Following a commanding slap on the fore leg, the intelligent animal knelt for Kay to mount him, after which, Farrel adjusted the stirrup leathers for her.

In the meantime, Pablo was saddling a splendid, big dappled-gray gelding.

“One of the best roping-horses in California, and very fast for half a mile.  He’s half thoroughbred,” Farrel explained.  “He was my father’s mount.”  He caressed the gray’s head.  “Do you miss him, Bob, old-timer?” he queried.

Kay observed her companion’s saddle.  It was of black, hand-carved leather, with sterling-silver trimmings and long tapaderas—­a saddle to thrill every drop of the Castilian blood that flowed in the veins of its owner.  The bridle was of finely plaited rawhide, with fancy sliding knots, a silver Spanish bit, and single reins of silver-link chain and plaited rawhide.  At the pommel hung coiled a well-worn rawhide riata.

When the gray was saddled, Farrel did not mount, but came to Kay and handed her the horsehair leading-rope.

“If you will be good enough to take the horses round in front,” he suggested, “I’ll go back to the kennels and loose the hounds.  On our way over to the Sepulvida rancho, we’re liable to put up a panther or a coyote, and if we can get our quarry out into the open, we’ll have a glorious chase.  I’ve run coyotes and panthers down with Panchito and roped them.  A panther isn’t to be sneezed at,” he continued, apologetically.  “The state pays a bounty of thirty dollars for a panther-pelt, and then gives you back the pelt.”

Five minutes later, when he came round the north corner of the old hacienda, his hounds frisking before him, he met Kay riding to meet him on Panchito, but the gray gelding was not in sight.  The girl was excited.