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"So. And this one is a fighter, too. I think. Señor, should you ever wish to sell, por favor, remember one Luis Oliveri! For such a horse as this—sí, a man might give a fortune! Ah, to ride into camp before that puffed-up gamecock of a Merinda on such a horse!" Oliveri closed his eyes as if better to imagine the triumph. "Shiloh’s not for sale, Coronel," Drew replied. Oliveri shrugged.
Then his pride in Shiloh banished some of his stiffness. "He is of the line of Eclipse." Maybe that would not mean much to a Mexican, though. The breeding of eastern American horses probably did not register south of the border. "Señor—such a one—he is not for sale?" "No." Drew knew that sounded curt, but Oliveri ruffled him. He added, "One does not sell a friend."
Heard tell as how once he was plannin’ to be a real doc hisself. He sure can take care of a fella good. What I’d like to know is how them bushwhackers knew jus’ where to lay down an’ wait for Oliveri." "What do you mean?" "This here Coronel, he was comin’ to buy hosses an’ so he was carryin’ money or else somethin’ as could pass for money.
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