"Why, Sweetheart, do I frighten you so? I waited long upon the mesa near the speed-track at the spot we had agreed upon, and when you did not come I fared forth to meet you."

"Eric, it is Saul again. What can I do?"

"Dear, I have about $2000 which I am resolved to play on the races. I will win. I must. Old Irish Mike has brought over his whole stableful of saddle horses and I was raised in Kentucky. Do not despair, we shall beat the gambler at his own game. Here is Mike, now. Perhaps--Mike, it's a fine string of horses you've picked up.

"It is so. Many a thoroughbred I've bought that came all the way from Kentucky or Missouri. All that had the stamina to get to Californy, the one thing left that many of the poor devils could sell when they reached the coast."

"Mike, some of them are faster than others, I suppose."

"'Tis what half the shoe-string gamblers in the camp have tried to find out. I may have me own opinion, but it's to meself I'll kape it till afther the races are run. I will not spile sport. Have ye seen the last cayuse that's bein' put in?

"You mean the cow pony that came in with the bunch of cattle from the Napa Valley yesterday?"

"The same. The auld boy, whilst in his cups, is bettin' she can beat anythin' on four legs, even jack rabbits an' antelope. The precious gamblin' riff-raff are fillin' him up with tanglefoot, proper."

"Why, Mike?" Mike glanced at the silent girl and then down into the gulch below.

"Miss Patty, have ye visited the claims?"

"No, but I should like to."

"Come, then, if ye will so pleasure an old man. The men will not be workin' tomorrow. They will be that pleased to show a lady how to wash a pan o' dirt, they will be saltin' ivery pan wit' nuggets for ye! Eric, lad," he called back to the tall young man, "ye might look the cow horse over. She has not been curried for long; yet, whisper, beauty is but skin deep an' the finest rapier is often encased in a rusty scabbard."

"There is something going forward that Mike wishes me to see," though Eric, as he hurried off to the livery stable. "That is why he took Patty away."

A crowd of gamblers were just putting up a pair of riders on two horses.

"Hey, Eric Tallman, you used to own this horse. Can he beat this rat-tailed kyoodle that runs after steers?"

Eric laid a hand fondly on the magnificent black "half breed," who had just enough mustang to give him the stamina and spirit and wildness characteristic of the Spanish-bred horse.

"Keep him on a steady rein and he'll beat anything in the mountains. I'd never have sold him except--." He sighed, turning to the cattle horse.

She was long necked, long legged, long haired, wall-eyed, lean, and badly in need of currying, and yet Irish Mike was no fool, and Mike knew Eric's extremity--his and the girl's whom he loved.

He noted the deep, broad chest, the tapering barrel and the tremendous driving power in the steel muscles of the hind quarters, but she drooped, spiritless. He turned again to the satin-coated half-breed.

"Any dust up yet?"

"Ye-aw, about ten thousand. Old fool seems to be well heeled. We've got 'im full to the eyes, down at String-halt Eddie's place, an' the boys are goin' to try the plugs out before they put up any more." Two trial races were ridden and the sad cow horse was outrun with apparent ease.

The next morning as Patty went on her daily stroll to "take the air,"

her way was blocked by a clamoring crowd of undesirables who were baiting a miserable old cattle man.

"I tell ye, gentlemen, I was indisposed. 'Twas the liquor talking.

Surely you would not take advantage of a poor old man and his honest, hard-working little mount. Every day of her life she works. Gentlemen, I beg you--"

"Begging will get you nothing better than a good drubbing, you filthy cattle lout! If you don't pay up your bets, we'll take it out of your hide. I, for one, have a special use for my money at the week's end."

It was Slick-heels Saul. Patty turned aside, sick at heart. This was the creature in whose power she was "like to fall."

Upon her return she found the old cowboy sitting dejectedly under a liveoak bush. "Sir," she began timidly, "you are in trouble. I should like to express my sympathy."

He rose with suspicious nimbleness. "Now, bless your kind heart, Miss, to stop to console a sad old man."

"I overheard what Mr. Saul said to you, sir. He is--"

"Without doubt, without doubt, he is everything you mention. Could you, now, be Mistress Patty Laughton, of Kentucky?"

"Yes, sir."

"I knew your Grandfather Laughton, my child, and since I came here I have heard-of you," he finished, with innate delicacy. Indeed, who had not heard her story?

She opened her silken reticule and drew forth a small, buckskin bag.

"Will you not accept it? Yesterday, at the claims, I panned it out myself. I am sorry for your plight. I am sorry for anyone in the clutches of Slick-heels Saul."

"But--. Can you--?"

"It does not matter. Your extremity is greater than mine."

He stood looking after the slim girl who carried her head so high. "How like a Kentucky Laughton. Thoroughbred stock, all!" He tossed the bag in his hand. "'Tis why they are where they are today." Then his keen old eyes softened. "And why they are what they are, today. Bless her tender heart to stoop to an old cattle man in the mire. As for this--I must see Irish Mike," and he hurried off with surprising speed.

Bets rose. Every gambler had been apprised of the sure thing and flocked to the betting like bears to a honey tree.

"Have ye put up ye'r money, Eric?" asked Irish Mike, late the next night.

"Yes," said Eric, briefly.

"Ah. So." Mike's shrewd gave slid from the young man's face.

"They do say that Slick-heels Saul is beginnin' to worry over the $20,000 he's staked. The shoestring gang have gathered in the information fr'm th' express agent that the auld cattle man owns a big Spanish grant down in the valley, and has $50,00 to his credit in certificates of deposit from the express company. 'Tis as good as gold."

"Mike, have you ever seen him before?"

"I never spile sport, me boy."

It was the last day of the fiesta and the famous race was at hand.

"There is the old cattle man with his vaqueros."

"Faith, they're a tough lookin' lot, all armed with a brace o' Colts apiece. 'Tis fun they'd have, cleanin' out a Fandango House."

"Patty, girl, you are pale today."

"Oh, Eric, 'tis the last day of grace. Heaven help us if--"

"See, Patty, gir-r-rl, they're fixin' for the foot race between Cherokee Bob an' that Australian squirt fr'm Sacramento."

"Why are they placing men with guns every ten feet along the track?"