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For what use eet is for live now I don' tell you. Those ol' man who speak me leave theese rancho he is your father, no?" "Yes, Pablo. And he isn't such a terrible man, once you get acquainted with him." "I don' like," Pablo muttered frankly. "He have eye like lookin'-glass. Mebbeso for you, mees, eet is different, but for Pablo Artelan " he shrugged.
With a cry that was curiously animal-like, the man ran for the nearest brush. Twenty feet from him, Pablo made his cast and shrieked exultantly as the loop settled over his prey. A jerk and it was fast around the fellow's mid-riff; a half hitch around the pommel, a touch of a huge Mexican spur to the flank of the fleet little black thoroughbred and Pablo Artelan was headed for home!
Not that anybody ever steals anything in our country, except a cow once in a while and cows never range in our patio but just because we're hell-benders for conforming to custom. When I was a boy, Pablo Artelan, our majordomo, always slept athwart that gate, like an old watchdog.
Eighty pounds of dark meat, answering to the name of Allesandro Trujillo and claiming Pablo Artelan as his grandfather, drew next position on Peep-sight, as Farrel had christened Panchito's half-brother, while three other half-grown cholo youths, gathered at random here and there, faced the barrier on the black mare, the old gray roping horse and a strange horse belonging to one of the volunteer jockeys.
With Panchito went an ancient Saratoga trunk, Pablo Artelan, and little Allesandro Trujillo, ragged and bare-footed as usual. Upon arriving in San Diego Don Mike unloaded Panchito at the Santa Fe depot. Gone now were the leg bandages and the beautiful blanket with which Danny Leighton had furnished Panchito at starting.
For the first time in sixty years, Pablo Artelan, the majordomo of the Rancho Palomar, was troubled of soul at the approach of winter. Old Don Miguel Farrel had observed signs of mental travail in Pablo for a month past, and was at a loss to account for them.
As the gate closed behind her, John Parker drew forth his pocket book and abstracted from it a hundred-dollar bill, which he handed to Pablo Artelan. "We have had our little differences, Pablo," he informed that astounded individual, "but we're gradually working around toward a true spirit of brotherly love.
A swarthy hand followed by a chambray-clad arm was thrust in the door, and the pistol snatched out of Murray's hand before the latter even knew what was about to transpire. Pablo Artelan stepped into the room. "Vamos! Go!" he ordered, curtly, and relieved the astonished butler of the tray. Murray glanced at Don Miguel. "Perhaps you'd better go," Don Miguel suggested, weakly.
Kay blushed, but instantly decided to appear nonchalant. "Good evening, Pablo," she greeted the majordomo. "How do you feel after your long, hard day on the range?" "Gracias, mees. Myself, I feel pretty good. When my boss hees happy well Pablo Artelan hees happy just the same." The girl noted his emphasis. "That's very nice of you, Pablo, I'm sure.
Are you willing to admit that Pablo Artelan is not my equal?" he challenged suddenly. "Certainly!" Kay and her father both cried in unison. "Very well. Is Mr. Okada my equal?" "He is Pablo's superior," Parker felt impelled to declare. "He is not your equal," Kay declared firmly. "Dad, you're begging the question." "We-ll, no," he assented, "Not from the Anglo-Saxon point of view.
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