“That would be fine,” he agreed.

“Come, then I have a horse for you.”  As she led the way back toward the farm buildings she explained:  “I’m selling off a bunch of cattle.  Benito is rounding them up and cutting out the best ones.”

“You keep them, I reckon.”

“Always.  That’s how I improve the grade.  You will see a splendid herd of animals, Mr. Law—­the best in South Texas.  I suppose you’re interested in such things.”

“I’d rather watch a good herd of stock than the best show in New York,” he told her.

When they came to the corrals, an intricate series of pens and chutes at the rear of the outbuildings, Law beheld two thoroughbred horses standing at the hitching-rail.

“I’m proud of my horses, too,” said Alaire.

“You have reason to be.”  With his eyes alight Dave examined the fine points of both animals.  He ran a caressing hand over them, and they recognized in him a friend.

“These beauties were raised on Kentucky blue grass.  Brother and sister, aren’t they?”

“Yes.  Montrose and Montrosa are their names.  The horse is mine, the mare is yours.”  Seeing that Dave did not comprehend the full import of her words, she added:  “Yours to keep, I mean.  You must make another Bessie Belle out of her.”

“Mine?  Oh—­ma’am’” Law turned his eyes from Alaire to the mare, then back again.  “You’re too kind.  I can’t take her.”

“You must.”

Dave made as if to say something, but was too deeply embarrassed.  Unable to tear himself away from the mare’s side, he continued to stroke her shining coat while she turned an intelligent face to him, showing a solitary white star in the center of her forehead.

“See!  She is nearly the same color as Bessie Belle.”

“Yes’m!  I—­I want her, ma’am; I’m just sick from wanting her, but--won’t you let me buy her?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t sell her.”  Then, as Dave continued to yearn over the animal, like a small boy tempted beyond his strength, Alaire laughed.  “I owe you something, Mr. Law, and a horse more or less means very little to me.”

He yielded; he could not possibly continue his resistance, and in his happy face Alaire took her reward.

The mare meanwhile was doubtfully nosing her new master, deciding whether or not she liked him; but when he offered her a cube of sugar her uncertainties disappeared and they became friends then and there.  He talked to her, too, in a way that would have won any female heart, and it was plain to any one who knew horses that she began to consider him wholly delightful.  Now, Montrosa was a sad coquette, but this man seemed to say, “Rosa, you rogue, if you try your airs with me I will out-flirt you.”  Who could resist such a person?  Why, the touch of his hands was positively thrilling.  He was gentle, but masterful, and—­he had a delicious smell.  Rosa felt that she understood him perfectly, and was enraptured to discover that he understood her.  There was some satisfaction in knowing such a man.