"Yes. And he said I couldn't have him--that he was going to acquire
him."

"Perhaps he was merely jesting with you."

"No; he meant it."

"I believe," he said, smiling, "that it is most unusual of young men to
show such selfish disregard of your expressed desires."

"Flatterer! I like him all the more for it. He's a man with some
backbone."

"So I noticed. He wears the ribbon of the Congressional Medal of
Honor. Evidently he is given to exceeding the speed-limit. Did he
tell you how he won that pale-blue ribbon with the little white stars
sprinkled on it?"

"He did not. Such men never discuss those things."

"Well, they raise fighting men in the San Gregorio, at any rate," her
father continued. "Two Medal-of-Honor men came out of it. Old Don
Miguel Farrel's boy was awarded one posthumously. I was in El Toro the
day the commanding general of the Western Department came down from San
Francisco and pinned the medal on old Don Miguel's breast. The old
fellow rode in on his son's horse, and when the little ceremony was
over, he mounted and rode back to the ranch alone. Not a tear, not a
quiver. He looked as regal as the American eagle--and as proud.
Looking at that old don, one could readily imagine the sort of son he