“Where is my mount, Miss Parker?” he demanded.

“Just as I rode up in front, a man came out of the patio, and started that automobile hurriedly.  He had scarcely gotten it turned round when one of his front tires blew out.  This seemed to infuriate him and frighten him.  He considered a minute or two, then suddenly ran over to me, snatched the leading-rope out of my hand, mounted, and fled down the avenue at top speed.”

“’The wicked flee when no man pursueth’,” the master of Palomar replied, quietly, and stepped over to the automobile for an examination of the license.  “Ah, my father’s ancient enemy!” he exclaimed, “Andre Loustalot has been calling on your father, and has just learned that I am living.  I think I comprehend his reason for borrowing my horse and dusting out of here so precipitately.”

“There he goes now!” Kay cried, as the gray burst from the shelter of the palms in the avenue and entered the long open stretch of white road leading down the San Gregorio.

Don Mike’s movements were as casual as if the theft of a horse in broad daylight was an every-day occurrence.

“Unfortunately for that stupid fellow, he borrowed the wrong horse,” he announced, gravely.  “The sole result of his action will be to delay our ride until tomorrow.  I’m sorry, but it now becomes necessary for me to ask you for Panchito.”

She slid silently to the ground.  Swiftly but calmly he readjusted the stirrups; then he faced the girl.

“Want to see some fun?” he demanded.

“Why—­yes,” she replied, breathlessly.

“You’re a good little sport.  Take your father’s car and follow me.  Please bring Pablo with you, and tell him I said he was to bring his rifle.  If Loustalot gets me, he is to follow on Panchito and get Loustalot.  Thank you, Miss Parker.”

He swung lightly into the unaccustomed flat saddle and, disdaining to follow the road, cut straight across country; Panchito taking the fences easily, the hounds belling lustily as they strung out behind him.  Kay did not wait to follow his flight, but calling for William to get out the car, she ran round to the barn and delivered Farrel’s message to Pablo, who grunted his comprehension and started for his cabin at a surprising rate of speed for an old man.  Five minutes after Farrel had left the Rancho Palomar, Kay and Pablo were roaring down the valley in pursuit.

Half a mile beyond the mission they came upon Don Mike and his father’s enemy.  In the first mile, the latter had ridden the gray out; spent, gasping, the gallant animal was proceeding at a leg-weary, lumbering gallop when Miguel Farrel, following on Panchito at half that gallant animal’s speed, came up with Loustalot.  Straight at the big gray he drove, “hazing” him off the road and stopping him abruptly.  At the same time, he leaped from Panchito full on top of Loustalot, and bore the latter crashing to the ground.