De Alba rode to Jimeno’s side. “The Chumash ride well,” he said.

“Sí, Comandante, as if they were born to be horsemen. They learn quickly. They live for their time in the saddle. Sometimes they ride just for the joy of riding.”

“So I’m told,” de Alba said. “Let’s see how good they really are.” He pointed into the distance. “Tell them to race their horses as fast as they can to that far tree to the east and back.”

De Alba watched Jimeno instruct the other riders, feeling the thrill of competition building in his chest. When all the riders burst into motion, almost as one man, kicking up dust behind them, de Alba dug his spurs into Esperanza.

The far tree they raced to was half a mile away. It sat silhouetted against the sky on the bluff overlooking the beach. The plain there sloped toward the ocean over rough ground of small hillocks and hidden depressions, but it was familiar ground for the Chumash men working the cattle. Excited by the thrill of the race they urged their horses on. First one, then another of them took the lead, but they all stayed tightly bunched as they sped over the ground, shouting friendly taunts to each other as they raced.

De Alba held Esperanza in check, riding confidently with the pack until they approached the tree.

Mayhem broke out as all eight riders tried to round it as tightly as they could for the return gallop. Horses snorted and whinnied, their hooves coming dangerously close as riders maneuvered for advantage. One vaquero got too close to another. Their horses bumped, throwing each off stride. Their riders clung to their saddles.

De Alba approached the turn alongside Vincente. He swung Esperanza wide and then reined the stallion hard to the right, aiming the horse as close to the tree as he could. Esperanza protested with a shrill whine. The Lieutenant’s gambit trapped Vicente between Esperanza and the tree trunk, forcing him to pull up sharply. Vicente’s mount bellowed fear as Vicente tried to avoid the tree. The horse reared. Vicente fought for balance. The horse veered off to the left, tripping on his own legs, and stumbled to the ground on top of its rider.

De Alba didn’t look back. He spurred Esperanza to greater speed. He caught up with the pack and raced past three of the riders, including Tomas. There were still three riders ahead. He urged Esperanza to greater effort. The stallion forced his way into the pack of leaders. Now they all ran together, hooves flashing and slashing the ground, coming dangerously close to each other. The staccato of sixteen hooves pounding the earth together sent a flush of excitement coursing through the Spaniard.

In response to de Alba’s leg pressure, Esperanza veered right then left, forcing the horses next to him to give ground. The aggressive gray bullied his way through the pack. Only one vaquero was still running with him.

The two horses were closing fast on the finish line, running side by side as one horse. Esperanza was blowing blood-flecked foam from his mouth. The look in his eyes was fire. De Alba drove his spurs deeper into his flanks where drops of blood already oozed from his withers. With only a slight head movement Esperanza bared his teeth. The other horse lurched out of reach. It was enough for Esperanza. He flew by Jimeno a full length in the lead.