e was by no means a
stalwart, she detested the man at once. For that reason, being a lady to
the tips of her slim fingers, her smile was more cordial than necessary.

"I am looking for Manuel Cordova," she said.

"Me," replied the Mexican, and managed to speak without removing the
cigarette.

"I'm glad to know you." she answered. "I am Marianne Jordan."

At this, Manuel Cordova removed his cigarette, regardless of the ashes
which tumbled straightway down the bell-mouthed sleeve of his jacket;
for a Mexican deems it highly indecorous to pay the slightest heed to
his tobacco ashes. Whether they land on chin or waistcoat they are
allowed to remain until the wind carries them away.

"The pleasure is to me," said Cordova melodiously, and made painful
preparations to rise.

She gathered at once that the effort would spoil his morning and urged
him to remain where he was, at which he smiled with the care of a movie
star, presenting an even, white line of teeth.

Marianne went on: "Let me explain. I've come to the Glosterville fair to
buy some brood mares for my ranch and of course the ones I want are the
Coles horses. You've seen them?"

He nodded.

"But those horses," she continued, checking off her points, "will not be
offered for sale until after the race this afternoon. They're all
entered and they are sure to win. There's nothing to touch them and when
they breeze across the finish I imagine every ranch owner present will
want to bid for them. That would put them above my reach and I can only
pray that the miracle will happen--a horse may turn up to beat them. I
made inquiries and I was told that the best prospect was Manuel
Cordova's Alcatraz. So I've come with high hopes, Senor Cordova, and
I'll appreciate it greatly if you'll let me see your champion."

"Look till the heart is content, senorita," replied the Mexican, and he
extended a slim, lazy hand towards the drowsing stallion.

"But," cried the girl, "I was told of a real runner--"

She squinted critically at the faded chestnut. She had been told of a
four-year-old while this gaunt animal looked fifteen at least. However,
it is one thing to catch a general impression and another to read
points. Marianne took heed, now, of the long slope of the shoulders, the
short back, the well-let-down hocks. After all, underfeeding would dull
the eye and give the ragged, lifeless coat.

"He is not much horse, eh?" purred Cordova.

But the longer she looked the m