Free Suzanna by Harry Sinclair Drago Page B

they caught the spirit of the chase. Their noise but added to the poor animal’s confusion, and losing his head the coyote dashed directly toward the corral. A coyote will not take refuge in a hollow log or stump when possessed of his native cunning, but this was a young pup, and whatever cunning he was born to had left him. The log beside which Ramon had stood caught his eye, and with a bound he was at it, wriggling his way into its protecting embrace.
    A scream broke from the other end of the log almost simultaneously. A second later a human being scrambled into view and dashed away in the direction of the caserio . The crowd howled its pleasure. Ramon shook his head as he recognized the fleeing figure. It was Suzanna!
    â€œEsa chica es insoportable,” the boy muttered to himself, and with truth it seemed that Suzanna had indeed become unmanageable as the day for her departure for San Luis Bautista drew near.
    As much to hide his own chagrin as to turn the crowd’s mind from the rapidly disappearing girl, Ramon sent his men to their places in preparation for the coming herd. For the time being, he was reconciled to having Suzanna sent to the Mission. She should not have ventured to the corral, and her embarrassment could not be greater than his. With flashing eyes, and the bit of the devil in his teeth, he flung himself into the work at hand.
    Dressed as he was, he seemed surprisingly thin and narrow about the hips. It is a way with boys raised in the saddle. He elected to tame a wild-eyed piebald cayuse, which had been saddled only after a bad twenty minutes. With a wave of his hand, he ordered his vaqueros to let go. A flying leap landed him squarely in the heavy saddle. For a second the battle was his; but the horse had only been stunned by the suddenness of his action. With an angry snort the animal leaped into the air and came down stiffly upon all fours. It is a back-breaking experience for the rider. Ramon clung on, and with his spurs straightened out the horse.
    The spectators applauded vociferously as the boy sent the animal round and round the corral, meeting every trick the horse tried. Ramon was no mean rider and inside of forty minutes he had subdued the animal to the point of being able to mount him without having him buck.
    The boy had caught a glimpse of the handsome stranger, and recognizing an audience, had done his best, as is the way with youth. The fellow’s devil-may-care swagger had quite won him. As he left the corral, Ramon saw the man bow to him. Returning his greeting, he addressed the stranger.
    â€œMy compliments,” the latter murmured. “From experience, I know that the proper breaking of a horse is solely a matter of touch,—an art in itself. Allow me to introduce myself, sir: I am Juan Montesoro, of Mexico City, dubbed Pancho for short, by those who know me.”
    â€œYou honor me, sir,” the boy replied. “I am Ramon, the eldest son of Don Fernando Gutierrez. I take it, you are a stranger in this land.”
    â€œI am, indeed! Was that piebald the last of the remuda?”
    â€œNo. We have some fifteen ahead of us, but only one a trouble-maker,—that gray with the lop ears.”
    Ramon wiped the perspiration from his face as he surveyed the animal about which he had just spoken. It was unbearably hot for so late in the year. The men had saddled another horse, and he raised clouds of dust as he tore, riderless, around the corral. A lariat swished through the air, and the horse went down. Vargas, the hacienda’s best vaquero, was upon him when he reared erect.
    This work was hard, dangerous, but these men accepted it as an adventure. Vargas soon led his mount from the corral, and Ramon and Montesoro saw the lop-eared gray singled out for his turn. The boy voiced a foreboding grunt as he watched his men approach the horse.
    â€œIs he so bad?” Montesoro asked.
    â€œHe threw the best of us yesterday afternoon. The horse has got the