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.

"Where is my mount, Miss Parker?" he demanded.