and entered the stable in quest of saddle and bridle, the while
she turned to Pat in his corner and explained what she was about to do.

"Pat dear," she began, nestling her cheek against his head, "you are
going away. You are going with Stephen. Do you remember Stephen?"
Emotion began to grip her. "You have served me well, Pat, and
faithfully. I hope you will prove as true to your new master. I--I
wanted to help him. But I--I couldn't--couldn't--" She could not go on.
Gazing up into his eyes she seemed to see him waver--knew that it was
because of her blinding tears--and abruptly left him and returned to the
house.

In her room she stood weeping at the window overlooking the corral. She
saw the Mexican bridle and saddle her pride, saw him carefully tuck away
her note, and saw him mount Pat with a great show of importance, as
though elated with his commission. Then she saw him ride Pat out of the
corral, across into the river trail, and turn toward town. Seeing her
horse go from her, perhaps for all time, she turned from the window and
flung herself across her bed, where she gave way to her grief. Her Pat
was gone! Her Pat--heart of her life--was gone!

Miguel was indeed pleased with his commission. Never before had he been
astride this so-wonderful horse. As he rode along, testing the ease of
Pat's gait, noting with what readiness he responded to the reins, he
fell to wishing that it were not so near dusk, since then he might
become the object of envious eyes in town. But he could not control the
hour of day, even though he could control the horse's movements. So he
cantered along until he reached the town proper, when he slowed Pat into
a walk. Lights were being switched on along the avenue, and in their
glare he enjoyed to the full whatever admiring glances were turned his
way from the sidewalks. But as he neared the hotel where Stephen was
stopping he urged Pat into a canter first, then into a gallop, pulling
up before the side entrance with a quick reining that brought both the
horse and himself to a stop with a magnificent flourish. It was good--as
he admitted to himself. Then he slipped to earth. And now his
magnificence left him, for he never before had entered this so-beautiful
hostelry. Girting in his belt, however, he strode up the steps, faltered
on the threshold, and was directed to the clerk. This magnate handed the
letter to a bell-boy.

Stephen was seated in his room when he read Helen's note. When he