She squinted critically at the faded chestnut. She had been told of a
four-year-old while this gaunt animal looked fifteen at least. However,
it is one thing to catch a general impression and another to read
points. Marianne took heed, now, of the long slope of the shoulders, the
short back, the well-let-down hocks. After all, underfeeding would dull
the eye and give the ragged, lifeless coat.

"He is not much horse, eh?" purred Cordova.

But the longer she looked the more she saw. The very leanness of
Alcatraz made it easier to trace his running-muscles; she estimated,
too, the ample girth at the cinches where size means wind.

"And that's Alcatraz?" she murmured.

"That is all," said the pleasant Cordova.

"May I go into the corral and look him over at close range? I never feel
that I know a horse till I get my hands on it."

She was about to dismount when she saw that the Mexican was hesitating
and she settled back in the saddle, flushed with displeasure.

"No," said Cordova, "that would not be good. You will see!"

He smiled again and rising, he sauntered to the fence and turned about
with his shoulders resting against the upper bar, his back to the
stallion. As he did so, Alcatraz put forward his ears, which, in
connection with the dullness of his eyes, gave him a peculiarly foolish