THE
LITTLE LADY OF THE HORSE

I told thee so, señor! See! she is leading him as gentle as a lamb.—[Page 152].

THE
Little Lady of the Horse

BY EVELYN RAYMOND

❁

BOSTON
ROBERTS BROTHERS
1898

Copyright, 1894,
By Roberts Brothers.

University Press:
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.

THE
LITTLE LADY OF THE HORSE.

CHAPTER I.

Old Sutro and young Steenie were where they might have been found on almost every day at the same hour,—down on the beach, where the great cañon cut through the mesa to the sea.

A group of rocks, roughly piled, and a few evergreen shrubs clustering about them, made a pleasant break in a long, monotonous stretch of coast, and the coolness of the spot was always refreshing after their canter in the sunshine. Their horses had been unsaddled and set free to browse upon the herbage up the cañon; and these moved here and there, lazily, as if—like the old caballero himself—they felt the languor of that midday hour.

“Sutro, what makes the water so bluey-green?” asked the little girl, who had been sitting silent for full one minute and gazing dreamily at the shining waves.

“Caramba! How can I tell?”

“But you should know, shouldn’t you? Doesn’t everybody keep learning things all the time? If I were a’most a hundred, like you, I should know everything, I think. In verity, I should be able to answer a simple question such as that. And so I tell you.”

“Si? Thou wouldst find thou knew nothing at all, maybe; and thou wouldst not trouble if it were so. Because, if the good Dios wished to make us wise He would put wisdom into our heads without labor to us, wouldn’t he? Why not?”

“Fie, my Sutro! Do I learn reading that way? But no. I should wait a long time first, my father says. Well, then, if you do not know what makes the water green, I s’pose, at least, you can tell what lies beyond the water?”

“Ah, that I can! Beyond the water lies the sky. Thou canst see that for thyself,” answered the old man, with a chuckle of delight, and pointing to the horizon, where, in truth, the sky and ocean seemed to blend.

“No, that is a mistake, begging your pardon, dear Sutro, though it looks so. For my father says that it is only seeming; and that if I were to sail ’way, ’way over ever so far, it would be just as it is here,—the water so low down and the sky so high up above my reach. But, dearie me, I s’pose you will never tell me anything, Sutro! I must find out all things for myself. I wish my father wasn’t so busy. I wish my mother hadn’t died when I was a baby. I wish I knew what makes the road-runners such silly birds. Why should they keep always in front of one in a chase after them? Why don’t they fly up out of the way? But, of course, you can’t tell. And I wish—I wish—What makes people grow wrinkley when they get old? You can’t help being wrinkley, I know that, dear Sutro, but what makes it?”

“En verdad! It may be answering thy idle questions, Little Un; yet there is one thing I would have thee know, and remember it. My soul! if thou dost not, I will be—”

“Not angry, please, Sutro!” cried Steenie, in sudden alarm.

“Maybe no. Not angry, truly. But wilt thou remember? I cannot be a hundred till the Natividad (Christmas) comes round five-and-ten times more. When I am a hundred years, thou wilt be a woman. This I know, because I asked Father Antonio when I was last at his house. My father was a hundred and ten when he died; and his father even more than that. The Vives’ family lives long in this world, and—Guay! wouldst thou lie down without thy blanket?”

For Steenie had thrown herself full length on the mass of sea-pink vines, and would have been asleep in another moment; but kind old Sutro spread his gay Navajo blanket further up, under the shelter of the rocks, and, after the child had curled herself upon it, arranged with utmost care the branches of the chaparral till she was wholly screened from sunlight. Next, he whistled for the horses, who came obediently back to the mouth of the cañon; and then he went speedily to sleep, as Steenie had done. But for himself he made no screen, save his arm across his eyes, nor any bed softer than the warm sand.

During the next half hour these two odd comrades slumbered so peacefully that the teal in the pool beyond the rocks, and the sand-pipers in the rushes, went on about their business as fearlessly as if no human intruders were near; but when the half-hour was up, the girl awoke as suddenly as she had slept. Sitting on her blanket, she pushed her brown curls from her blue eyes, and looked mischievously around at old Sutro, whom she began to pelt with the crimson-rayed pinks, aiming so deftly that one gold-hearted blossom landed plump in the open mouth of the sleeper. “Hola! hola! that was well sent!” shouted she.

Sputtering the flower from his lips, the Spaniard retorted, “In verity, I—”

But if he meant to scold his darling he was not allowed; for she leaned over him, patted his brown cheeks, and kissed him squarely on the forehead, in the very thickest tangle of the wrinkles she so disliked. “There, there, that will do, Señor Sutro Vives! If I was rude, you will forgive me; and if I hurt you, the wound will heal.”

“Thou hast healed it already, Little Un, and hast gladdened the heart of thy slave!” answered the other, with the extravagance of expression to which his tongue was prone.

“Pooh, my Sutro, you my slave,—the proudest of proud on all Santa Felisa ranch! My father says that the blood of three races runs in your veins, and that you have kept the best part of each. What does he mean by that? I heard him talking thus, once, with some strangers, who came to see the place. It was when you rode away on Mazan´, there; and one of the gentlemen said you were a very picture-y, or something, kind of a man, and—”

“Ten thousand pardons, Little Un, but it is false!”

“Why, Sutro, what do you mean? Isn’t it fine to be picture-y? I’m sure the stranger thought so, for he noticed everything about you,—your buckskin leggings, your sombrero, your big saddle, your lariat, and all. He said you were a most int’resting kind of a ‘type,’ and an ‘old Californian,’ and so on. I didn’t like the ‘old’ part of the talk, though, ’cause if you have to be called old, I’d rather do it myself, wouldn’t I?”

Sutro vouchsafed no reply. His brow had grown moody, and his movements betokened anger; for he picked up the blanket, and folded it with unusual precision, and, if it were possible, threw his shoulders back more squarely than ever. At that moment, from the snap of his black eyes and the rigidity of his upright figure, he might have been eighteen instead of eighty-five, which was the number of years Father Antonio’s reckoning accorded him.

Steenie became silent, for the one thing she feared was anger; but when the caballero whistled for Mazan´, she puckered her own red lips into a summons for Tito, who answered by a loving neigh and an immediate approach.

Not so the brown mare, Mazan´, to whose sensitive ears Sutro’s whistle had conveyed the information that her master was cross; and when that was the case, it were well that all tender-hearted creatures kept out of his way. So, instead of trotting forward to be mounted, pretty Mazan´ trotted off up the beach, and at a distance of a few rods broke into a wild gallop toward home.

Then Steenie laughed; she couldn’t help it, though she trembled instantly, fearing she had made matters worse.

But no. There was something so merry and infectious about that laugh that doting old Sutro was not the one to withstand its influence; his frown relaxed to a smile. “Well, well, En verdad! Mazan´ knows something after all! For she would be a foolish thing to come back for a beating she did not deserve, would she not, mi niña [my little one]?”

“So I should think, indeed! But what fun! You shall mount with me, and we will chase her. She’ll not stop to think that Tito can run her two to one, will she?”

“No, no!” assented the caballero, vaulting up behind his young favorite, and making ready for use the lariat which had been wound around his waist while he rested; also, for once, accepting without challenge Steenie’s declaration that Tito was the fleeter animal.

Such a race as that was! Save themselves and the fleeing mare, not a moving thing was in sight; for, leaving the mesa bluff and the cañon, they left also the teal and the sand-pipers and the few creeping creatures which lived in the chaparral. To the west glittered the rich-hued Pacific Ocean; before them and behind them lay miles and miles of yellow beach, while far eastward towered the mountains which formed the boundary of the great Santa Felisa rancho.

Lonely? Why, yes, it may have been; but so free, so roomy, and so sunny, that these two who darted athwart the picture never thought of loneliness. Besides, why should they? Santa Felisa was home to them; and during the few short years that Steenie Calthorp had lived she had viewed just such wide stretches of this lovely world, and no other; for a city, or even town, she had never seen.

As they rode they talked,—the girl asking and her attendant parrying questions without number, till he cried out, impatiently, “If thou wilt chatter always, Little Un, how can Tito win the race? Be quiet now, for just two minutes, and my lady Mazan´ shall feel the rope about her throat, if Sutro’s hand has not lost its cunning, with all this tiresome talk of ‘old,’ ‘old’!”

“Ce, ce, ce!” echoed Steenie, softly, in her eagerness using the familiar Spanish injunction to silence, and bending low to whisper a few encouraging words in Tito’s ear. Like an arrow he shot forward, and in a brief space had gained so close to Mazan´ that Sutro made ready to throw.

“Whiz-z! Swish!” The rope had cut the air in shining circles above the runaway’s straining head, and descended with unerring exactness to her steaming neck; who, at the first touch of the cord, understood its meaning, and stood stock-still,—a throbbing, beautiful, but wholly conquered thing.

“Caramba! Señ’rita Mazan´! Wouldst serve thy master so? Take that—”

But the uplifted hand was stayed, as suddenly as the mare’s flight had been, by Steenie’s clutch of Sutro’s wrist, and her rebuke: “What! would you strike her, really,—Mazan´, who never knew stroke or blow! Or has this been your habit, and I s’posing you so gentle! For shame to you, Sutro Vives! and shame ten thousand times! What is she but—”

“A vixen! so I tell thee, who must be broken of her evil tricks. Caramba! Thus I will have it. ‘Women and mares and a spaniel dog—’”

“Sutro! Leave your dirty Spanish jabbering, and listen to me. If you strike her you shall not ride on the beach—for—one—whole—week! And ‘so I tell thee’! I will take—let me see—maybe Nicoloso Barbazon, instead.”

“Si? but thou wilt not, Little Un! What does the stupid Nicoloso know of what a señorita’s body-servant should be? Answer me that. Caramba!”

“Ah, ha, my Sutro! Somebody is silly still; but it isn’t Mazan´, nor Tito, nor me! And you make me think you are not well: you are so very, very cross. Never mind, poor thing! Get upon your pretty beast, who stands so quiet now, and let us go on. I am as hungry as hungry; aren’t you?”

“But—Nicoloso?”

“Pooh! for Nicoloso! He needn’t come if you are good, need he? Sutro, what makes one so uncomf’table to be hungry? If it weren’t for that queerness inside of me I could stay out all day, and maybe all night.”

“Ten thousand pardons, Señ’rita, but thou couldst not. What would thy father do if dinner came but not his little daughter?”

“Sure—what could he? He couldn’t live without me, could he? And there’s the house. Another race, ’tween Tito and Mazan´ this time, not Tito catching her. To the house. I’ll beat you, my Sutro!”

They struck into it briskly; but, as they neared the goal, both riders slackened pace at sight of a strange carriage standing before the ranch-house door, with several of the household servants grouped excitedly about it.

“More strangers!” cried Steenie, regretfully. “It is nothing but comp’ny all the time, nowadays; and I get no more nice times with papa, because he must always attend to them. I wish they wouldn’t come; don’t you, Sutro?”

But she received no answer; for the old caballero had muttered two words, “The master!” then had dashed around the building toward the kitchen court.

“The master? Who can he be? Isn’t my father the master? Except, of course, that great rich lord who owns Santa Felisa, and never comes near it at all,—not once in all my life, my father says; and I’m sure I hope he hasn’t now, for I should be dreadfully afraid of a lord who wore a gold cornet on his head, as Suzan´ says ‘every lord does who is any ’count at all.’”

But he had indeed come; and the little girl, who had trotted slowly up to the verandah, was lifted from her saddle, and duly presented by her father, the manager, to a stout, red-faced old gentleman as, “My Lord, my daughter.”

“So? Hm-m. Let me see. Wife died. Only one? So, so. Nice child. Run along, Sissy. Hm-m. I’d like dinner now. Great country for appetite—California. Afterward, business.”

Mr. Calthorp bowed gravely and respectfully; and, loosing Steenie’s hand, bade her make herself ready for the table as soon as possible. She held up her face for a kiss, then sped away, thinking she had never seen her father look so serious, and wondering why. “Was he afraid of a lord, too? And was the cor’net under the man’s hat?”

Customs were simple at Santa Felisa; for, till now, the household had been practically that of the manager alone, and, in default of an older person, Daniel Calthorp had liked to have his little daughter preside at table. So it seemed strange to none but Lord Plunkett himself when, a little later than usual, she entered the dining-room and took her usual place. Feeling she must honor such a wonderful occasion, she had taken uncommon pains with her toilet; and, fortunately, the guest was too indifferent to such matters to be shocked by the rather striking combination of a red sash, a blue throat-knot against the white frock, and a mass of reddish-brown curls bound into a stiff little knot by a band of green velvet.

Sutro followed her. As the oldest resident of the rancho, he felt that he fully understood the requirements of the hour; and he had also hastily arrayed himself in his gayest apparel, to take his place solemnly behind his little “señorita’s” chair. There he stood, perfectly motionless, apparently not noticing anybody,—even Steenie herself,—and reminding the amused Lord Plunkett of nothing in the world save one of the wooden figures outside a tobacconist’s shop.

A Chinese waiter, instructed and assisted by the valet, Dorsey, served the unexpected guest, and the housemaid attended to the others. But nobody ate very much except the stranger; for Mr. Calthorp was too busy answering his lordship’s questions, and Steenie too curiously regarding his lordship’s appearance.

Suddenly that gentleman looked up. “Well, Sissy! What d’ye think? Seem to be staring sharp. Children read folks. Hope you’ll like me. Fond of children. If they don’t talk. You don’t talk. Look as if you wished to. Out with it! Don’t be afraid.”

“Oh, no! I’m not afraid, now. Ought I to be? But, will you please tell me where you keep it? And why don’t you wear it?”

“Eh? How? Keep it? Wear it? What?”

“Your cor’net. Suzan´ says you can’t be a real lord, ’n’ess you have one.”

“Steenie!” reproved Mr. Calthorp, smiling in spite of himself.

“Good. Good. Let her alone. Hm-m. Coronet. Suzan´ ought to know. Well. Didn’t bring it.”

“Oh!” In a tone of deep regret.

“No. Sorry now. If I’d imagined disappointment—might. But—inconvenient. Don’t wear it often.”

“Oh,” said Steenie again, surprised by the twinkle in the nobleman’s eyes. “I didn’t know. I s’posed you had to. But I should think it would be uncomf’table; ’cause gold is so heavy, and your head so smooth and shiny. I s’pose it would slip off.”

His lordship’s manners certainly were peculiar. He nearly choked himself trying to suppress a laugh and to eat at the same time; but finally yielded to a real guffaw, as noisily as any cow-boy on the hacienda.

“Steenie!” said the manager once more, this time with real severity, and comprehending for the first time how sadly neglected the child had been.

But, fortunately, Lord Plunkett was very good-natured, and wisely divined that his small new acquaintance was rude from ignorance, not intention. Dinner over, he made friends with her directly, and explained away the mistaken notions with which the housemaid had filled her head; while Steenie listened eagerly, delighted to find at last somebody who had both leisure and patience to answer “foolish questions.”

Lord Plunkett did this without waste of words; and at the same time went poking about the place, enjoying the novelty of all he saw, and gaining from Steenie’s talk a pretty fair idea of the daily life at San’ Felisa. “Hm-m. So I see. Brought yourself up, my dear. No mother. Father busy. Servants ignorant. No church. No school. Well, well. Good thing for you, bad for me. Pity about his eyes. Bad, bad. Hope he won’t be blind. Permanently.”

“I hope so, too; though I don’t know who you mean,” said the little girl, sweetly.

“Good child. But—don’t know? Why—father. Your father, of course. Hope he’s the only one losing eyesight and going away. Hate new men. Old ones invaluable. Hope he’ll get better. Come back. Bad country for eyes. Too much sunshine. Not enough green.”

Steenie stopped short on the path. “What was that, sir, please? My—father—blind? My father—going away? Oh, dear Lordship, is that what you said?”

“Yes. Yes. Certainly. What? Not know it? Why else should I come? Hm-m. Queer. Starts in few days. Operation—maybe cure—”

But he did not finish his sentence; for the child had suddenly darted away from him, and to the side of the “tobacconist’s sign,” who was crossing the court at that moment. “Sutro! O my Sutro! My father is blind—and—going—away!”

“It is false!” cried the old Spaniard, with his ready and angry defiance of all things unpleasant.

“No, no—it is true! ’Cause the cor’net man said so!” And clinging to her ancient playfellow, Steenie buried her face in his blanket, and sobbed bitterly.

CHAPTER II.

KENTUCKY BOB.

There, she’s found it out! And it’s a deal worse than if her papa had told her first off!” said Suzan´, at the kitchen door. “I never saw Miss Steenie cry about anything before, and I wish now that I’d a broke it to her myself.”

“My, my! the poor lamb!” echoed Ellen, the cook, joining the housemaid. “No, she haint never been one fer cryin’,—not even fer bumps er scratches. Sunshiny’s what she’s been, an’ so I say. Does seem’s if I couldn’t stay to cook fer no new manager’s folks after that sweet angel. Good mind ter give notice myself.”

“Oh, wait! Maybe it won’t be so bad as we think. Master don’t look blind.”

“How can ye tell how he looks, ’hind them great goggles o’ his’n? I guess it’s bad as it can be, er he wouldn’t give in to it. He’s clear grit, an’ so I say. That’s where Miss Steenie gets her’n. See! she’s spied her father comin’ back from the valley! He rid away to call the boys together, ’cause his lordship wants to see ’em, I suppose. Well, he’s right peart-lookin’ yet; but man’s born to troubles, an’ he’ll hev to take his share.”

The women watched Steenie run with outstretched arms to meet Mr. Calthorp; saw him check his horse suddenly, when he had almost ridden her down, and bend low to lift her to his saddle. They saw the child’s arms clasp close about his neck, and fancied they could hear her wild outburst of grief. Then, with moistened eyes, but in true delicacy, they turned away from witnessing a child’s first sorrow.

“Papa, is it true?”

“My darling, why do you cry? What true?” The well-trained horse stood still while the rider folded his little daughter close to his own heavy heart.

“About your eyes. Are you—blind?”

Mr. Calthorp shivered. Even to himself he could not yet acknowledge what seemed so plain to almost everybody else. “No, sweetheart, I am not blind—yet; but for a long, long time there has been something wrong with my eyes, and I dare put off no further the treatment which they require. So I wrote to Lord Plunkett and asked him to relieve me of my duties here, and I meant to tell you as soon as it seemed necessary. He came before I had expected that he could. He wishes to make a thorough examination of all Santa Felisa affairs, and to be fully informed concerning what has and has not been accomplished. I was glad, yet sorry, to see him; for our going away means leaving what has been my home for many years, and the only one you have ever known.” He continued talking for some time, till he had given a very quiet and clear explanation, which soothed the excited child; besides, the words “not blind—yet” were quite enough to fill her buoyant heart with a hope that seemed certainty.

“Oh, how glad I am! And I s’pose the lordship didn’t understand. I’m quite—quite sure he didn’t mean to tell a wrong story, and I’m sorry I snatched my hand away from him. I’ll go and ’xplain it now, if you will put me down, Papa, dear!”

Smiling, Mr. Calthorp complied; and chirruping to his horse, continued his course stableward, while Steenie sought the “cor’net man” to make her naïve apology.

“I guess I didn’t behave very p’lite, Mr. Plunkett, but I hope you won’t be angry; I don’t like folks to be angry; but you see I didn’t think of anything ’cept my father,—not then. And I want to ’xplain it,—he isn’t blind—yet; and he’s going to see a treatment; so he’ll prob’ly get them fixed over all right. And if there’s anything I can do to int’rest you I will; for I like you very much.”

“Eh?—So?—Thank you. I like you, too. Bright—bonny—worth a fortune. Hm-m! Better than coronets. Stick to it. Sit down? Orange-tree, yonder. Now, then, talk.”

Laughing at his mirthful manner and odd sentences, Steenie led her new friend to the seat he designated; and folding her hands in her lap, said politely: “I’ll talk what more I know. ’Tisn’t much, I guess; only ’bout horses; I haven’t told you ’bout them yet, have I?”

“No. Horses? What? Whose? Go on.”

“Oh, ours!—No, yours, I s’pose they are. Maybe they’re the ‘boys.’ We’ve trained them beautifully. Tomaso and Connecticut Jim both say it can’t be beat. It’s great fun!”

“Don’t understand.”

“No, I s’pose not. But—this way, like a ‘circus,’ my father says. They’s thirty-three, all counted; and every man of us has tried to teach our horse something better ’n each other; and they’re just too cunning for anything! Bob’s kept the ‘cup’ for ever so long now; but I’m going to win it away from him some time,—see if I don’t! Oh, I forgot!” The eager little face suddenly drooped at memory of that terrible “going away,” which would be even earlier than the anticipated “some time.”

“Why, why!—delightful! Never heard anything like it! See it, can I,—eh?” demanded his lordship, whose love for horses was very great.

“I hope—I s’pose so. I don’t know. Kentucky Bob’s the head of us. We all have to mind him; and sometimes he don’t be very pleasant. But he’s very nice and honest, my father says; and I love him dearly. Then we can’t have a ‘circus’ till he gets over it again. My father says, too, it’s ’cause he has a ‘crank’ in him somewhere. I s’pose that’s what hurts him and makes him unpleasant. Don’t you?”

“No doubt. Bad complaint; quite general; touch myself. No, don’t go! All right to-day. But—where’s Kentucky Bob? Walk him out! Won’t refuse,—not me.”

“No, I don’t s’pose he would, on ’count of your being a lordship. If you don’t mind staying alone, I’ll run and ask him. I saw him cross the arroyo just a minute ago.”

“Trot; but come back.”

Steenie departed; and while she was gone Mr. Calthorp walked gropingly toward the bench where his employer sat. He could still see sufficiently to guide himself about, and his knowledge of places and voices aided him. His eyes were screened by close-fitting goggles of dark glass; but he had worn these so long that Steenie had almost forgotten how he had ever looked without them. Few men in his condition would have held to his post as long as he had done, nor was this course wise in him; but he was not a rich man, and he had been anxious to earn and save what he could for his little daughter’s sake.

“Hm-m! Get around—first-rate. Little girl’s smart; like her.”

“Thank you. She is, indeed, a brave, sunny child. In some ways her leaving Santa Felisa will be better for her. She should go to school and mingle with women. Here she has no company but myself and the ‘boys.’ Old Sutro has devoted himself to her since her infancy, and loves her jealously. Indeed, they all love her; but that is not strange, for she loves them. Has she gone upon an errand for you?”

“Yes; Kentucky Bob. Circus; like to see it. Says maybe he won’t; ‘crank.’”

“Well—he is—very peculiar. However, he has a wonderful gift with horses; it seems almost like magic; and he has imparted much of his skill to Steenie. She is perfectly fearless. But I won’t anticipate. Are they coming?”

“Yes. Hm-m! how old—she?”

“Ten years. I’ll leave her to negotiate matters.”

Steenie approached the orange-tree, leading by one hand a great fellow, whose face at that moment wore its most forbidding expression, and who seemed inclined to break away from his small guide; yet determined, in his own words, “to bluff her out.” Catch him, a free-born American, truckling to anybody, even if that body were a genuine “lord,” and, what was more, his own employer! He guessed he wasn’t a going to get up no shows unless he wanted to! And he evidently did not so incline.

However, when he came quite near, and saw the small, dumpy, red-faced old gentleman sitting beside Mr. Calthorp, his astonishment conquered every other sentiment. He a lord! Whe-ew! he might be anybody! and of no great account either. Plain suit of clothes, no rings, no watch-chain, no scarf-pin even; bald-headed, good-natured, sensible. As his observations reached this happy climax, Bob ceased tugging at his feminine guiding-string, and marched frankly forward. Her father could not see the action; but Steenie was amazed when the refractory ranchman doffed his hat and made a respectful, if somewhat awkward, bow. She had never witnessed such a concession before on his part.

“Good evenin’, sir; hope I see you well.”

“Quite, thank you. Hear you’re wonderful. Horses. Like to see, if suits.”

“Well, sir, I’d like to ’blige; but, you see, it’s against the rules. Once a week, an’ no oftener, is what we agreed. No use o’ rules if you don’t stick to ’em. Exercise every Sunday; no other times in public. If I ’lowed the ‘boys’ to go it rash, say on odd days, they’d get the upper hand in no time; then where’d I be?”

From the tone of his voice, Mr. Calthorp judged that Bob “wanted coaxing;” but this was not his affair. From the moment of Lord Plunkett’s arrival he had practically resigned all authority, so he did not interfere.

Now, my lord was, as has been said, very good-natured; but, like many other good-natured and unassuming people, opposition, or imposition, made him a little testy. Moreover, he was accustomed to command, not to sue; and he considered that he had already conceded as much as was necessary to this rough specimen of American manhood. His choler and color rose together; and he opened his lips with a very decided and undignified snort: “Woo-oo! Eh? Hey?”

But, fortunately for all parties, Steenie’s bright eyes had telegraphed alarm to her loving heart; and with a quick little “’Xcuse me!” she pulled Bob’s surly face to the level of her lips, and whispered something in his ear.

Then, as if there had been a spring in his back, his head rebounded to the upright, his cheek actually paled beneath its tan, and he ejaculated fiercely, “Great—Huckleberries!”

It was the nearest approach to an oath which this strange man ever allowed himself; for, though he thought nothing of breaking the Sabbath by racing or gaming, he neither gave way to profanity nor indulged himself with a drop of spirituous liquor. He used to describe himself as “half marm, half pop;” and to attribute his sobriety and general uprightness to the “marm” side, all to the contrary, “pop.” Years before, when, a hot-tempered lad, he had run away from “pop’s” wrath, he had solemnly promised his weeping “marm” that he would “never drink nor swear;” and, to the honor of Kentucky Bob, be it said that he had loyally kept his word.

“Huckleberries! Little Un, you don’t mean it! You wouldn’t, would you?”

“I—I’ve got to, dear old Bob! But—there—there—there—I won’t cry! I will not. And you’ll do it, won’t you?”

“Well—I reckon! But—little missy—the boys won’t believe it. An’—Say, Boss, is it true? Are you a goin’ to light out?”

“Yes, Bob,” answered Mr. Calthorp, sadly; “but from necessity, not choice.”

“An’ the Little Un—why must she go? Ain’t nothin’ the matter of her eyes, is they?”

“No, no; thank God!”

“Well, then; leave her here. We’ll take care of her. Square. Why—what—in huckleberries—’ll San’ Felis’ be ’ithout our little missy? Ain’t she lived here ever sence she was borned? Ain’t we be’n good to her? We’re rough, we be. We ain’t no lords, ner nothin’ but jest cow-boys er sech. But we’re men. An’ Americans. An’ I ’low there ain’t one of us but would fight till he died fer the Little Un, afore harm should tetch her. No! It mustn’t be. An’ that’s square.”

Even Mr. Calthorp, who had had abundant proof, heretofore, of the “boys’” devotion to Steenie, was surprised at the depth of feeling betrayed by Bob’s words; for he could not fully know all that the child had been to these men, separated, as most of them were, from home and its associations. Since the hour when they had been permitted to carry or amuse her, a tiny baby in long clothes, they had adopted her in their hearts, each in his own way finding in the frank, merry, friendly little creature an embodiment of his own better nature. They had even, with the superstition of their class, accepted her as their “mascot,” sincerely believing that every enterprise to which she lent her presence or approval was sure to prosper.

To what other human being would Kentucky Bob have imparted the secret of his wonderful power over the equine race? Indeed, to none other; and to her only because he loved her so, and was so proud of her cleverness. And now his big, honest heart ached with a new and bitter pain, as he faced the danger of her loss.

“Why, Robert! Why! Eh, what? Tut, tut. Good child. Understand. But—father. First claim. See?”

Angry Bob cast one scorching, contemptuous glance upon the nervous little lord; and if looks could annihilate, the British peerage would then and there have been short one member. Stooping, he swung Steenie to his shoulder, and strode away toward the great group of out-buildings which made the home-piece of Santa Felisa rancho seem like a village in itself. In the thickest crowd of the employees who had been summoned to meet their newly-arrived employer he came to a sudden halt.

“Hello, Bob! What’s up?”

“I—The—I wish to sizzle! Sho, I can’t talk. Tell ’em, Little Un.”

“Yes, Bob,” answered Steenie, gently, patting the great head around which she clung for support. “But s’pose you put me down. I’m heavy. I’m such a big girl, now.”

“No, you ain’t. Hold you forever, if you’ll stay.”

“Stay? stay where?” asked somebody.

“Tell ’em,” again commanded the Kentuckian; and waving her hand, she hushed them by this gesture to hear her words.

Yet, somehow, the words wouldn’t come. For the second time that day the self-control of the child failed to respond to her needs. Her eyes roamed from face to face of those gathered about her, and there was not one on which she did not read an answering love for the great love she bore to it. Rough faces, most of them. Sun blackened,—sin blackened too, perhaps; but gentle, every one, toward her. Odd comrades for a little girl, and she a descendant of “one of the first families in Old Knollsboro;” still the only comrades she had ever known, and therefore she craved no other.

Twice she tried to speak, and felt a queer lump in her throat that choked her; and at last she dropped her face upon Bob’s rough mane, her sunny curls mingling with it to hide the tears which hurt her pride to show.

An ominous growl ran round the assembly, and the sound was the tonic she needed. “Hmm! who’s a makin’ ther Little Un cry?”

“Nobody, boys! dear, dear boys! Not anybody at all! I’m not crying now; see?” Proudly her head was tossed back, and a determined smile came to the still quivering lips, even while the tears glistened on the long lashes. “You see, it’s this way. I didn’t know it till this very day that ever was, or I’d have told you. ’Cause I’ve always been square, haven’t I?”

“You bet! Square’s a brick!”

“But all the time my father’s been getting blinder an’ blinder, an’ I didn’t even s’pect anything ’bout it. I thought he wore goggley things ’cause he liked ’em; but he didn’t: it was ’cause he had to. And now, if he don’t go away quick, he can’t get his poor eyes fixed up at all. So he is. He’s going ’way, ’way off,—three thousand miles, my father says, to a big city called New York, where a lot of doctors live who don’t do anything but mend eyes. My grandmother lives in a little town close to New York, and we’re going to her house to stay; and—and—that’s all. I have to do it, you see. I’m sorry, ’cause I love you all; but he’s my father, and I have to love him the biggest, the best. And I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, no! Three cheers for the ‘boss’!”

Given with a will; and by the time the noise had subsided, Steenie’s smile had become as bright as ever, and that without any effort of her will.

“Good enough! Thank you, dears! And now we’ll have an extra circus, won’t we? I’d like to ’blige Mr. Plunkett; and besides, you know, I—I sha’n’t have you, nor the horses, nor any more fun—in that old New York!”

“Hold on, Little Un! Where’s your grit?” asked Kentucky Bob, passing Steenie from his shoulder to a convenient wagon-box.

His sudden change of tone astonished her.

“Hain’t I allays fetched ye up to do the square thing? If your dooty calls you to N’ York,—to N’ York you’ll have to go; but, fer the honor o’ San’ Felis’, an’ the credit o’ your boys, do it colors flyin’—head up—shoulders back—right face—march!”

“I will, Bob! I will! I will!” cried Steenie, impulsively. “You sha’n’t ever have to be ashamed of your Little Un, and so I tell you!”

In the midst of the rousing cheers which followed, Lord Plunkett appeared. He could restrain his curiosity no longer.

CHAPTER III.

SUTRO.

There was some suspicion among the other dwellers at Santa Felisa that Kentucky Bob had once been employed about a real circus, else how had he acquired that intimate knowledge of the “rules and regulations of the ring” which he so constantly quoted for their benefit or reproval?

Into this “ring” of theirs, the boxes, hurdles, and other such things which the riders had been accustomed to use were soon gathered, and the labor of arranging these gave a wholly pleasant diversion to their feelings. A card of invitation, beautifully engrossed by a vaquero who had passed from the halls of Harvard to the great solitudes of the Sierras, was issued to Lord Plunkett, and a seat of honor erected for him on the southern side of the campus, while a spreading canvas wall on the north was to serve as a screen for the preparatory operations of the various actors.

Needless to say, maybe, that having once been won over to the project of an “extra show,” an enthusiastic determination was roused among the Santa Felisans to make this farewell entertainment of their beloved “mascot” eclipse everything which had ever gone before.

Nor did the interest end at this ranch; for mounted messengers were dispatched to invite the people of the neighboring estates to be present at the exhibition, and the invitations were as generally as promptly accepted.

But, of course, all this preparation took time to accomplish, so the hour had been appointed for one o’clock of the following day; and during the interval Steenie’s thoughts were so full of the matter, her tongue so busy discussing it, that she neither felt the time long nor permitted others to do so.

Indeed, so affected was everybody by the pleasant excitement of “getting ready,” that evening came before Lord Plunkett and his manager were finally seated with their books before them and a secretary at hand, to examine into the business which had brought them together. Even then his lordship would gladly have waived the matter, had he been allowed. “For ten years. No, twelve. Ship-shape. Paid well. Prompt. What more, eh? I’m satisfied. Why not you?”

“But, my lord, I cannot be. Any new manager will have enough to learn, even without all that I can do for him. It is a great responsibility; and, my lord, I would respectfully suggest that in the future you visit this part of your property oftener than once in a dozen years.”

“Hm-m! maybe; don’t know. Planned to stay a year now. Girl going away. Give it up. Consider. She comes back; so ’ll I. Like her. Credit to you; so’s the ranch.” Then the nobleman looked up as Sutro entered, bringing the “new manager’s” card. “Hello, Mexican! Well, where? Indigestion? Missed you. Say you’ve character? Born here? Eh? What?”

Sutro bowed profoundly, but a malicious grin overspread his wrinkled face. “En verdad! Thy Excellency honors his humble servant. Ten thousand thanks. But the señor stranger is arrived.”

Mr. Calthorp rose and advanced carefully in the direction of the door, extending his hand toward the new-comer, whom he immediately presented to Lord Plunkett; and, while these gentlemen were exchanging civilities, he turned sharply upon old Vives, whom he could hear rustling about near him. “Where have you been so long, Sutro? We have not seen you since dinner. His lordship has inquired for you several times.”

“Si? He does the least of his household too great respect,” answered the Spaniard, with haughty accent.

“Come, come, Sutro, don’t be foolish! It would be wiser of you to conciliate both him and the new ‘boss.’ They can easily turn you adrift, and you are an old man. From the tone of your voice, I judge that you are angry. That is senseless, and I am sorry. I wish to feel that one as fond of my little daughter as you are will be quite happy and comfortable when we are gone.”

“I bow myself in obligation to thee, Señor Calthorp,” responded the old Castilian, servilely. But his mood was neither servile nor happy; and, as the retiring manager turned once more toward his successor, he sought the cozy corner of the office which Steenie called her own, and where she sat by her pretty shaded lamp, sorting her picture-books.

“Hola, my Little Un! But I have put a thorn in his shirt, no? Trust old Sutro!”

“How? What do you mean? And surely I can trust you to do ’most anything hateful when you look such a way! What have you done now, Sutro Vives? Tell me that!”

“Hi, hi, hi! maybe no. Si? Dost thou wish to go from San’ Felisa to the land of snow and ice and no sunshine? Answer thou me that!”

“You know I don’t wish it; but I must, that is all. But, wait, how do you happen to know anything at all about it? You ran away directly after dinner, and now you’ve just come in!”

“Pouf! thinkest thou an old caballero knows nothing but what a baby tells him? I have known for—this—long—time all that has been planned for the little señ’rita. Si! Lo dicho dicho [what I have said I have said].”

For a moment Steenie was silent, unable to answer this argument. Then she cried triumphantly: “But you need not tell me that. A ‘long time’ may be from this very mid-day that ever was, but from no longer. Does anybody at San’ Felis’ ever tell Sutro Vives secrets? In verity, no; for Suzan´ says you are a sieve that holds nothing. At the Natividad, poor dear old caballero, with a word they don’t want spoken? Why, nobody. And if you’d known about my father’s eyes and all, you’d have told me the very first minute! You would so, my Sutro, you couldn’t have helped it!” clapping her hands.

It was the señor’s turn to look crestfallen. What his little lady declared against him was quite true; but this had never prevented his adopting an air of great mystery and secrecy whenever the slightest occasion offered. Poor old Sutro Vives was not the only one in this world bigger in his own estimation than in that of anybody else.

But he rallied as swiftly as she had done. “Tente! what of that? He will not stay at San’ Felisa—yes? In verity, no; I have taken care about that.”

“Sutro, you look, you truly do look, naughty! What badness have you been doing now, señor? Answer me that.”

“Is the truth badness? Then have I been bad,” retorted the other, bridling. “I have told him the truth, this not-wanted, unmannerly, new director-manager. Thou belongest to us,—to the vaqueros and caballeros, and everybody who dwells at San’ Felisa. It is in thee the ‘good luck’ lives; and thou wilt never be allowed to go away from us, so I tell thee! There will be mutiny, uprising; what Connecticut Jim calls ‘strike.’ But go from Santa Felisa, thou? No!—a thousand times no!”

Unperceived by them, Lord Plunkett had forsaken the other table and the business talk, which he found tiresome, for that of the pair in the cozy corner, which appeared to be interesting; and he had thrown himself upon a lounge which the back of Steenie’s big chair hid from view, to play the part of eavesdropper; only in this case it seemed not ignoble, for the two animated disputants spoke quite loudly enough to be heard by anybody in the room who had chosen to listen. He had, therefore, enjoyed the whole dialogue, and he now leaned forward to watch Steenie’s bright face and to catch her reply.

“But I answer you and Jim and everybody—yes! Where my father goes I will go, and all this silly talk won’t stop me! Next Saturday morning, Sutro Vives, the noisy black engine will stop at San’ Felisa station, and Papa Calthorp and I will get into one of those big cars, and will go whizz, away, away!—where you nor Bob nor Jim nor nobody can do wicked, hateful things to the Little Un, never again!”

Wrought up by the pathos of her own picture, Steenie’s self-control gave way at this juncture, and bounding toward her father, who seemed at that moment to be a cruel enemy, and yet her only friend, she astonished him by a torrent of tears and embraces which effectually stopped all further conversation.

“Sutro!” called Mr. Calthorp, sternly.

“Si, señor; how can I serve thee?”

“Here, go with Miss Steenie and find Suzan´. Daughter, let me see no more of this childishness. Such rebellion is unworthy of you and most distressing to me. Good-night.”

Poor Steenie! her tears ceased instantly, and her grief turned to anger. At that moment she felt that she had not a friend in the world, and her proud little heart resented the apparent want of sympathy she met with everywhere. With a very decided stamp of her little boot-heels, she marched out of the room,—“eyes front, right face,” as Bob would have commanded, though not in a spirit to be commended.

“Lastima es [it is a pity], my Little Un!” cried old Sutro, hurrying after his darling, only to have her turn fiercely upon him, and order him to “keep his pity to himself. And I want no Suzan´! I want nobody,—nobody at all!”

Ten minutes later a very wet and heated little face was buried in the white pillows, and Steenie Calthorp had settled herself in bed, convinced that she was the most ill-treated child in the world, and resolved to enjoy her misery to the utmost. Only unfortunately for her doleful plans, she was by nature very sunny and hopeful, and she was also perfectly healthy. In about two winks she happened to think of the next day’s “circus,” and before she knew it she was asleep, with a smile upon her lips.

Suzan´ entered softly and stood by the bed for a moment, shading her lamp with her hand and lovingly regarding the little maid. “Bless her dear heart! she’s shed more tears this day than in all her little life before. But she’s happy now,—happier ’n anybody else at San’ Felisa. My, my! what’ll ever we do without the Little Un? But master, he’s worried about her crying; though, sure, if he’d bothered less about books and business, and more about his own pretty flesh and blood, maybe his eyes’d a been better the now, poor man!”

Then she went away as gently as she had come; and when next Steenie awoke, the brilliant California sunshine streaming in at her window was not brighter than that within her own heart.

“Such a day, such a day! Will it ever come noon!”

“True. And all too soon, Miss Steenie, for that I’ve to do. Because, what has his lordship done but give orders for a big feed for all the people who are coming to see you show off?”

“To see—me, Suzan´? Why, not me, but all the boys. I’m not to do a thing till the very last, Bob says; and then only just ride and drive a little. Maybe they will get tired, and won’t stay till the end, so I won’t get a chance to do anything; ’cause Bob says he’s ’ranged a dreadful long program. I think that’s what he called it.”

“In verity, querida [my darling]! I believe you are the only one worth seeing, Lord Plunkett says. I heard one of the fellows giving him some talk about you, and he kept rubbing his fat little hands, and saying things so odd. Sounds like water coming out of a bottle. ‘Wonderful!’ ‘Strange!’ ‘Hm-m!’ ‘What?’ till I had to laugh. Think of—him—for a lord! Much I care to read stories about ’ristocratics any more! He hasn’t any ‘raving locks,’ nor ‘coal black eyes,’ nor nothing. Isn’t half as handsome as a’most any of the boys.”

“Well, well! Never mind him! Hurry up with my hair, won’t you, please? My! how you do pull! I wish my father’d let me wear it short, like his; don’t you?”

“Caramba! No. Your hair is the prettiest thing about you, except your eyes, and maybe—”

“Stuff! who cares for pretty? If I had to twist my hair up in rags every night, like you do, dear Suzan´, I’d be mis’able. But I s’pose you can’t help it. You’re grown up. It must be dreadful to get grown up, and as old as you are, poor, nice Suzan´!”

“Si? Humph! And me only twenty-five my last birthday. If it was Ellen, now—”

“Never mind Ellen. And I love you, dear Suzan´, if you are old; and I’m sorry ever’ time I’m fidgety ’bout my hair. You won’t ’member it against me, will you, after I’m gone? ’Cause I don’t mean any badness; it’s only this quick temper and can’t-keep-stillness of mine. I just want to run, run, or something, all the time. And keeping tidy, like my father says, is a bother. There! you’ve done, haven’t you? Can I go? Kiss me, Suzan´!”

Away danced Steenie, leaving her kind attendant feeling already heavy-hearted in anticipation of the time when there would be no restless little creature for her fond fingers to attire, and no little outbursts of impatience to correct.

But presently, all other thoughts save those connected with the immediate affairs of the day were banished by the tasks which Suzan´ found to do. There were chickens to roast, cakes to bake, biscuits by the hundred to be made, and pies—such rows of pies! that the arms of cook Ellen and her assistants, Win Sing and Lun Hoy, ached with the rolling of pastry.

But they were not dismayed. Not they! Didn’t they always cook just as much when the sheep were sheared, or the feast after the “roundup” was held? A pity if Santa Felisa couldn’t respond to any demand made upon her larder,—especially by order of her owner, a real live British lord!

So the great ovens were fired, both in the house-kitchen and in the old adobe cooking-sheds outside; and a corps of white-aproned helpers attended the roasting and stewing and baking of all the good things which Mistress Ellen and her aids prepared. While under the eucalyptus-trees bordering the arroyo, Suzan´ gayly directed the spreading of the long tables that would seat, if need be, full two hundred guests.

“Oh, isn’t it fun!” cried Steenie, darting about from one point to another of the gay and busy scene; and always having in tow the perspiring Lord Plunkett, who found no breath left for even his short sentences, but contented himself by beaming graciously upon each and every one he met.

“Tug an’ a canawl-boat!” said Bob, regarding the pair somewhat jealously. “Don’t see why the Little Un need stick to him so closet, even if he is a bloated lord!”

“Never you mind, Bob! Let the Little Un alone. Ain’t she happy? Ain’t she a purty sight? Brim full o’ smiles an’ chipper as a wren? What more do ye want?”

“Nothin’. But ’pears ter me she needn’t be so powerful glad ’bout leavin’ us. I—don’t feel much like laughin’. And she’d oughter be practisin’.”

“Don’t worrit. It’ll be all right. Little Un’s square. She won’t ferget us, you bet! An’ she’ll do the ‘great act’ all the better fer bein’ light-hearted. Land! I only hope them cold-blooded Easterners’ll make her half as glad as she’s always be’n at San’ Felis’! But—ain’t it gittin’ nigh dinner-time? Folks air beginnin’ ter come a’ready. Understan’ the spread, general, ain’t ter be till afterwards?”

“No. An’ the one ’t carries off first prize is ter perside. Well. I hope it’ll be our ‘Mascot.’ Do me prouder ’n if it was myself.”

“Me, too,” echoed his comrade, and departed to snatch a hasty luncheon.

At the same moment, Lord Plunkett announced, breathlessly: “I—I can’t. Stop. Wait. Hungry. As—a—grizzly. Ever since—I came. Beats everything. Appetite. Come. Eat.”

“Oh, you dear, funny man! However can you think about eating—now? Why, I just want one o’clock to come so much I can’t wait!”

“Eh? What? Not afraid? Ride—same’s nobody here?”

“Why—yes,” answered Steenie, slowly, as this new idea presented itself. “Why shouldn’t I? Indeed, I ought to do a great, great deal better; ’cause I wouldn’t like to dis’point dear old Bob. Nor you,” she added politely.

“Hm-m. Bob first. Then—me. Hm-m. You’re no—Anglomaniac. See that. Plain.”

“Wh-a-t, sir?” asked the little girl, astonished by the long, strange word he had used.

“No matter. Nice child. Spunky—but good. The way I like them. See here?” He held up a small purse in which were displayed six glittering double eagles. “Prizes. Eh? Win ’em? Highest—three; next—two; last—one.”

But Steenie was a little California girl, and her eyes were not dazzled by the sight of gold. Of its intrinsic value she had no idea; for in the course of her short life she had had no occasion to use any money. The prizes, therefore, represented nothing to her beyond themselves; and as playthings she did not care for them.

“Are they? Then I hope the boys will get them all. ’Specially Jim. He’s got a mother, an’ she’s got a consumption, or something. And he’s going to bring her out to live in California, sometime. It’s ter’ble cold where she stays now, my father says; and he ’vises Jim to fetch her. They’re money; and they would help, wouldn’t they?”

“Hm-m. Yes. And you—don’t want them?”

“If he can’t win them I do. I’d rather he’d get them himself, ’cause he’s so pleased when he beats anybody; but if he can’t—why, I will—I hope. Now I know ’bout them, he must have them.”

“Hm-m,” said Lord Plunkett again, grimly. “Oddest child. Like her. Immensely.”

“Steenie!” called Mr. Calthorp; and she darted toward him. “Are you sure that you wish to ride in this exhibition, darling? Are you timid? Because there are a great many here, it seems; and you need not if you do not like. It will be different from an ordinary occasion.”

“But I do wish, Papa dear, if you don’t mind; because Bob would break his heart if I didn’t. He told me so. And I’m going to win, too. Then I’ll get a lot of money to give poor old Jim, for his mother. Yes, yes! I want to ride! And I will—win!”

CHAPTER IV.

SUTRO’S EXHIBITION.

Before the entertainment really began, Sutro Vives gave a little private exhibition on his own account; and his dashings to and fro across the arena, directly in Lord Plunkett’s point of view, were intended to excite that gentleman’s curiosity and admiration,—which object was accomplished.

“Gorgeous. Old Spaniard. Silver. Robbed a mine.”

Steenie, mounted on her piebald Tito, was standing close to the seat erected for the proprietor, and explained for his benefit: “Oh, Sutro has had all those things for ever so long; since he was a young man, I b’lieve. He said he would show you what an ‘old Ca’fornian caballero was like!’ See! He’s all red and yellow and white. Listen to the tinkle of the silver chains among his trappings! Isn’t he proud as proud—my Sutro? My father says his vanity would be ’musing if it weren’t so ’thetic.”

“Pathetic, dear;” corrected Mr. Calthorp, guided by her voice to her side.

“Pathetic? Why?” demanded Lord Plunkett.

“Because although his family was once wealthy, almost beyond compute, this poor old fellow is reduced to live a dependent on the lands that were his fathers’, now a stranger’s. His shrivelled body in that gay attire is but a fitting type of his changed fortunes.”

“Why! Pshaw! Hm-m,” commented his lordship, uneasily, distressed, as he ever was, by thought of any other’s unhappiness.

“But, Papa dear, isn’t he always talking about his ‘estate’? He says that he is richer still than anybody hereabout; and that if he wants money all he has to do is—something or other!”

“The case with most of us,” laughed Mr. Calthorp. “But Sutro does still retain a small piece of property,—small as compared with his former possessions, apparently as worthless as the Mojave. It is the last spur of the mountain range on the east, there; and, from its peculiar summit—a gigantic rock cleft into three peaks—called Santa Trinidad. Can you see? Point it out, Steenie, please.”

“Yes, yes. See. Barren. Worth nothing?”

“So I think. So others have thought; or worth so little that in any transfer of this hacienda [estate] no purchaser has been anxious to possess La Trinidad, even if it had been for sale. There are many ugly traditions concerning it; but the plain and existing fact is quite ugly enough for me. It is infested with rattlesnakes, its cloven crest being their especial home.”

“Hm-m. Crime. Exterminate. Should be.”

“They do not wander far afield; but, should they become troublesome they would, doubtless, be exterminated. The Indians are their natural enemies—or friends; seeming to have no fear of them, yet killing them off in great numbers for the sake of their oil, which is sold at high prices.”

“Try to buy it. Trinidad. Hm-m. How much to offer?”

“I cannot advise you; for Sutro would fix its value at an absurdly enormous figure. Besides, there is no hope of his selling. Hark! Isn’t that the signal for the ‘Grand Entree’?”

The notes of a fifer, playing merrily, floated across the arena. It was the signal agreed upon, and the thirty-odd horsemen who were to participate in the tournament gathered hastily behind the canvas screen on the opposite side of the campus.

Now, as has been said, Steenie was not expected to ride until the closing part of the entertainment; and she might have remained by her father’s side, a mere spectator of all the rest, had she so desired; but when, at the first notes of the musician’s call, old Sutro plunged spur into Mazan´’s flank and dashed forward to the meet, her excitement rose to the highest. She sit still and watch!—while Tito’s dainty hoofs were dancing up and down, like feminine feet eager for the waltz! No, no! Not so, indeed! Away she flew, and the piebald horse followed the brown mare behind the canvas wall.

“Tra-la-la! Tra-la-la! Toot-a-toot!” Emerged the young Mexican fifer on his sturdy broncho; and though he was proud indeed of his position that day, he was but the preface to the story,—unnoticed and of small account.

Sutro Vives really led the cavalcade, having been appointed to this honor because of his age, and perhaps of his assumption,—for he was not the one to lose the prestige a little swagger gives to a weak argument; and, although he was a fine rider, there were many others finer, and Kentucky Bob’s great gray horse was far ahead of pretty Mazan´ for symmetry and graceful strength.

However, the latter person was quite willing to “play second fiddle so long’s the Little Un’s with me,” and she had naturally guided Tito to the gray’s side.

The other actors in the entertainment followed in single file, and even a captious critic would have been forced to admit that they made a magnificent appearance. The glossy sides, the waving manes and tails, the gay caparisons and the regular hoof-beats of the beautiful animals fitly accorded with that free bearing of the stalwart riders, which is native to those who dwell in wide spaces and under no roof but the sky.

Upon Lord Plunkett, to whom all this was new, the impression made by that scene was profound. It exceeded his highest expectations, and they had been great. It made him feel himself a bigger man—physically and mentally—to be served by such men as these, and his kindly heart warmed to the “Americans” then and there with a degree of respect and cordiality he had never before accorded them.

Then the marchings and countermarchings began, and Steenie with a childish caprice darted out of the ranks again and back to her father’s side, to whom she eagerly described all that was going forward; already learning with the intuition of her tender heart to become “sight to the blind,” and assuming toward him a motherly air which sat quaintly enough upon her merry face.

“Eh? What? Hm-m. Why?” queried the guest of honor, as, some time later, a prolonged shout rent the air; for he could see nothing especially fine about the half-dozen lads who now rode into the arena upon the backs of their rough-coated bronchos.

“The programme!” cried Steenie, determined that a paper prepared with such labor by one of her “boys” should be duly appreciated.

“Hm-m! ‘Number Seven. Knife Act!’ Well? What?”

“Watch and see, dear Mr. Plunkett! Look—look! It’s better than telling.”

“And something as difficult as rare,” added Mr. Calthorp.

The performers of “Number Seven” rode quietly to the centre of the field, where one stooped to plunge into the soft earth a large knife, burying the blade to the hilt. Then the six horsemen wheeled and rode slowly back to the starting-point, whence, at the fifer’s signal, they began a wild and wide circuit of the “ring,” repeating this several times. Each repetition brought them nearer to the centre; and at last, when they had attained their maddest, fleetest pace, the contestants uttered a shout, and bore down upon the projecting knife-handle. Each rider leaned far out of his saddle, his brow almost sweeping the ground, his eyes fixed upon one object, and his jaws set firmly for their task.

“But—don’t understand. Eh?”

“The knife! the knife! See! Each has one trial; each seeks to be first. See how they crowd! To pull it out with his teeth—See! See! Ah! Natan´! Na-tan´!” The child’s voice rose to a shrill cheer, which was caught up and echoed again and again.

Natan´, indeed, who with the knife-hilt still in his teeth and the fierce-looking blade presented to the view of the spectators, lifted his hat in acknowledgment of the plaudits, and rode straight toward his beloved “Mascot.” Then he accomplished a second feat, scarcely less difficult than the first; for still at break-neck speed he reached Steenie’s side, and, without touching the knife with his hands, thrust it deftly through a gay little cockade fixed to Tito’s head-stall. Then he rode off again at the same unbroken pace, and the “Seventh Number” of the programme was ended.

“Hark! the fifer again! That is my signal!” exclaimed Steenie, and waving her hand, galloped away to join the “boys.”

“Number Eight” was a trial of skill almost as difficult as the “knife race” had been, and consisted in lifting from the ground, while riding at full speed, a handkerchief which had been thrown there. Now, Steenie’s childish arms could not compete with those of grown men, and to supplement their shortness she was to hold the knife which Natan´ had won, and catch up the handkerchief on its point,—if she could!

“Of course, it is a foregone conclusion that she will win,” remarked some person near Mr. Calthorp. “Those fellows idolize that child, and they won’t half try to beat her.”

“Beg pardon, but it will be a ‘fair, square’ trial,” corrected the manager, turning toward the speaker. “Steenie would not ride if they had not promised her that. She is determined to win, and I think she will, but she will do so honestly. She is quicker of motion than the others, and has a judgment about distances which seems like instinct. Besides, she and Tito have grown up together, and he understands her like a second self.”

“Hm-m. Not afraid? Danger? Thrown?”

“No, my lord, I am not afraid. She never was thrown, and she began her riding in the first year of her life.”

“Eh? What? Amazing! ‘California story’?”

The proud father laughed. “A ‘California story,’ certainly, but a true one. Those fellows adopted her from the outset. They fixed up a sort of box-saddle, cushioned and perfectly safe, and strapped it on Tito’s back. He was but a colt then, and I would not have allowed it perhaps; but they persuaded Suzan´ in my absence, and when I saw how it worked I did not object. That is how it began. To-day—it ends.”

A sudden wave of regret swept over poor Mr. Calthorp’s heart, and turning away from a spectacle his affliction prevented his witnessing, he sought the retirement of his own apartments. “My dear little girl! How changed her life will be! From this freedom, this queenship, into the restriction of a country town and the submission of a schoolroom. Best for her, doubtless, but—poor little Steenie!”

Meanwhile Steenie neither pitied nor even thought of herself. Side by side with four other competitors, the piebald Tito kept his own place, and tossed his head in equine enjoyment of the excitement, while his young mistress applauded him softly, with that praise which was incitement as well.

Round and round the course, till the child’s eyes glittered and her cheeks glowed at the shouts of encouragement which reached her from every point. “Go it, Little Un!” “Hurrah for the ‘Mascot’!” “The Little Un’ll win, you bet!”

Such admiration is not the best mental diet for a young human being, perhaps, but it had not as yet hurt Steenie; and this was probably the last time that it would be hers. With a loyal recognition of the good-will expressed, she waved her hand and laughed and nodded, and “rode her level best.”

“Don’t ye let nobody better ye, Little Un, else you’ll break Bob’s old heart!” warned that worthy, himself urging the gray horse to its utmost.

“Not I!” returned his pupil, and dashed ahead.

Evidently the contest was between these two, who had outstripped the rest, and now crowded each other for the shortest line toward the fluttering bit of cambric on the path before them.

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Tito, my Tito! Now, now! Vamos! Quick—a spurt! Win—you must!”

Under the very nose of the gray, the little piebald darted, with his rider half-hanging from the saddle and the knife ready for action. Even Bob’s well-trained animal swerved a little,—a trifle merely, but it cost his master the prize.

No perceptible halt, but a dip, a rise, and Tito was already half-way across the course again, his mistress rising in her saddle, and waving triumphantly above her head the shining knife with the handkerchief it had pierced clinging about the hilt.

Waving triumphantly above her head the shining knife with the handkerchief.—Page 58.

If they had cheered before, the crowd went fairly wild at that. Old Sutro and Connecticut Jim, sworn enemies that they were, turned in their saddles and hugged each other. Lord Plunkett shouted and waved till he looked apoplectic; and the reiterated cheers, “Another for the Little Un!” “Another!” brought Mr. Calthorp from his darkened office once more, this time with a smile upon his lips.

But the hour grew late, and the assemblage hungry. There was, accordingly, no delay in giving the last exhibition, which was Steenie’s alone.

“The child—prodigy—must not leave. Like her; like her!” said Lord Plunkett again, as the manager approached.

“I am glad that you are pleased; but I think that you will enjoy this driving scene even more. There is no racing, no danger. If the horses are not out of training, their action is wonderfully fine and graceful. Does that shout mean her entrance?”

“No. Horsemen. Single. Taking stations—regular intervals—around the track.”

“Yes; I understand. They do that to watch the horses, for the child’s sake. At the least intimation of any animal being fractious or out of accord with the rest, the nearest caballero rides up and sets the matter right. Usually a word of command will answer, but sometimes an outrider accompanies her for the whole distance,—an extra one, I mean, besides Bob, who always follows close behind Steenie; generally in silence, but ready with advice if it is needed. That second signal—is it she?”

“Yes. Pretty! pretty!”

In her little wagon, to which was attached a wide, curious whiffle-tree, Steenie emerged from the canvas gateway, driving a pair of matched bays. The fifer had stationed himself in the centre of the plain, with a drummer beside him; and if the music they there discoursed was not sweet, at least it was inspiriting, and rendered in good time. Best of all, it was the same that had been used in training the horses, and they recognized it at once, falling into step immediately and almost perfectly.

The tune of “Yankee Doodle” fits perfectly the stepping of a horse; besides which, it is patriotic, and Kentucky Bob was nothing if not American. To the tune of “Yankee Doodle,” then, this “act” was given; and though Mr. Calthorp smilingly apologized that they had not chosen “God Save the Queen,” the delighted Englishman “didn’t mind in the least.”

“What, what! another pair, eh? Hey?”

“Has she made the circuit once?”

“Yes. Four; drives four!”

Around the course again danced the horses, four abreast, and not a break in their paces from start to finish.

“You darlings! you have never done so well! Do you know that I am to drive you no more? And are you being just perfect and splendid for that?”

“Maybe it’s ’cause they’re afeard of the Britisher!” said a vaquero, teasingly.

“No, no! it’s because they love me. Now, you others, remember—not one blunder!” This to the third pair which was being attached to the cart, these last in advance of the other four.