Farrel's first impulse was to curse the War Department--in Spanish, so she would not understand. His second was to laugh, and his third to burst into tears. How his father had suffered! Then he remembered that to-night, he, the said Don Mike, was to have the proud privilege of returning from Valhalla, of bringing the light of joy back to the faded eyes of old Don Miguel, and in the swift contemplation of the drama and the comedy impending, he stood staring at her rather stupidly. Pablo would doubtless believe he was a ghost returned to haunt old scenes; the majordomo would make the sign of the cross and start running, never pausing till he would reach the Mission of the Mother of Sorrows, there to pour forth his unbelievable tale to Father Dominic. Whereupon Father Dominic would spring into his prehistoric automobile and come up to investigate. Great jumped-up Jehoshaphat! What a climax to two years of soldiering! "Wha--what--why--do you mean to tell me poor old Mike Farrel has lost the number of his mess?" he blurted. "Great snakes! That news breaks me all up in business." "You knew him well, then?" "'Knew him?' Why, I ate with him, slept with turn, rode with him, went to school with him. Know him? I should tell a man! We even soldiered together in Siberia; but, strange to say, I hadn't heard of his death." "Judging by all the nice things I heard about him in El Toro, his death was a genuine loss to his section of the country. Everybody appears to have known him and loved him." "One has to die before his virtues are apparent to some people," Farrel murmured philosophically. "And now that Don Mike Farrel is dead, you hope to acquire Panchito, eh?" "I'll be broken-hearted if I cannot." "He'll cost you a lot of money." "He's worth a lot of money." He gazed at her very solemnly. "I am aware that what I am about to say is but poor return for your sweet courtesy, but I feel that you might as well begin now to abandon all hope of ever owning Panchito." "Why?" "I--I hate to tell you this, but the fact is--I'm going to acquire him." She shook, her head and smiled at him--the superior smile of one quite conscious of her strength. "He is to be sold at public auction," she informed him. "And the man who outbids me for that horse will have to mortgage his ranch and borrow money on his Liberty Bonds." "We shall see that which we shall see," he returned, enigmatically. "Waiter, bring me my check, please." While the waiter was counting out the change from a twenty-dollar bill, Farrel resumed his conversation with the girl. "Do you plan to remain in the San Gregorio very long?" "All summer, I think." He rose from his chair and bowed to her with an Old-World courtliness.