He rolled a cigarette with smiling lips as he spoke,
but all the time his black eyes burned at the chestnut.
He seemed to Marianne half child and half old man,
and both parts of him were evil now that she could
guess the whole story. Cordova campaigned through
the country, racing his horse at fairs or for side
bets. For two reasons he kept the animal systematically
undernourished: one was that he was thereby able
to get better odds; the other was that only on a weakened
Alcatraz would he trust himself. At this she
did not wonder for never had she seen such almost
human viciousness of temper in a dumb beast.
“As for running, senorita,” continued
Cordova, “sometimes he does very well—yes,
very well. But when he is dull the spurs are nothing
to him.”
He indicated a criss-crossing of scars on the flank
of the stallion and Marianne, biting her lips, realized
that she must leave at once if she wished to avoid
showing her contempt, and her anger.
She was a mile down the road and entering the main
street of Glosterville before her temper cooled.
She decided that it was best to forget both Alcatraz
and his master: they were equally matched in
devilishness. Her last hope of seeing the mares
beaten was gone, and with it all chance of buying
them at a reasonable figure; for no matter what the
potentialities of Alcatraz in his present starved condition
he could not compare with the bays. She thought
of Lady Mary with the sunlight rippling over her shoulder
muscles. Certainly Alcatraz would never come
within whisking distance of her tail!
THE COMING OF DAVID
Having reached this conclusion, the logical thing,
of course, was for Marianne to pack and go without
waiting to see the race or hear the bidding for the
Coles horses; but she could not leave. Hope is
as blind as love. She had left the ranch saying
to her father and to the foreman, Lew Hervey:
“The bank account is shrinking, but ideals are
worth more than facts and I shall improve the
horses on this place.” It was a rather
too philosophical speech for one of her years, but
Oliver Jordan had merely shrugged his shoulders and
rolled another cigarette; the crushed leg which, for
the past three years, had made him a cripple, had
taught him patience.
Only the foreman had ventured to smile openly.
It was no secret that Lew Hervey disliked the girl
heartily. The fall of the horse which made Jordan
a semi-invalid, killed his ambition and self-reliance
at the same instant. Not only was it impossible
for him to ride since the accident, but the freeswinging
self-confidence which had made him prosperous disappeared
at the same time; his very thoughts walked slowly on
foot since his fall. Hervey gathered the reins
of the ranch affairs more and more into his own hands
and had grown to an almost independent power when
Marianne came home from school. Having studied
