th bushes on either side and down this
they thundered, Caliente the gray, and Don Fernando the dark, matching
stride for stride, with Jo well in the rear. For he found if he rode
close up he was blinded and stung by sods and stones thrown back from
the flying hoofs of the two horses in the front.

It was a bit lonely for Jo and he wished that one of the other boys was
here to keep him company. As they rode, the bushes seemed to fly by as
they do when you look from a railroad train and Jo was afraid lest his
horse would be unable to keep the pace indefinitely. One thing in Jo's
favor was that he was the lightest of the three and what is more to the
purpose a very light rider.

So like the good horseman he was, he determined to save his horse all he
could and make him last out. For eight miles or more they rode without a
stop until they came to another gate. This the Spaniard unfastened and
swung open without dismounting, then closed it after Jo.

The morning light was now distinct, although the fog was over the sky.
Before them stretched a long level plain that broke into sand dunes near
the sea. They could see the ocean lying dark in its monotonous level of
color, to the Western horizon.

"We have just left the Sebastian ranch," called the Spaniard.

"It is immense," commented Jim. "May I ask how many acres it embraces?"

"It was immense in the old days," replied the Spaniard. "Before your
people took possession of the land. It was held by no fences then. But
your laws were not ours and we lost many square miles. Now there are
fifty thousand acres under fence."

"Fifty thousand acres!" exclaimed Jo.

"Ah, but it was double that before the Americans came," replied the
Spaniard. Then he glanced critically at Caliente. "Your horse looks as
cool as though he had been standing in the stable. The pace does not
affect his wind either. Splendid condition!"

"Caliente is as hard as nails," said Jim proudly. "But your horse has
wonderful speed."

The chestnut seemed more on edge than the old warrior, Caliente, and
tossed the foam from his bit, until his dark coat was speckled with it.

"He is high strung," said the Spaniard, "but I would back him against
any horse flesh in California. We can let them out here for a half dozen
miles."

"Let her go, Senor. I won't let you lose me."

At the word the Spaniard gave his chafing horse his head and away the
chestnut sprang in the lead. It was slightly down grade for a mile