the unerring accuracy of their lariats as they snaked them expertly about their quarry. Those dark-skinned riders looked strange, but they could hold their own with any American.
The very thought of going to South America fascinated both Chip Edwards and Biff Norris ever since they received a phone call from Chip’s Aunt Caroline. She was wealthy, prim, and completely dedicated to the fact that Ebony, her purebred quarter horse stallion would be secure only in the hands of an Edwards.
“Mr. Griffen would like to take him along with the polo team when they go to South America this winter,” she said. “I turned him down flat at first, but he has made me see that it would be good publicity for the estancia, and might give us an opportunity to sell some polo ponies down there a little later, especially if Ebony makes a good showing in the matches.”
She paused and Chip put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to his dad.
“I can’t figure out what’s wrong with Aunt Caroline,” he whispered. “It sounds as though she called up just to tell me that some guy wants to take Ebony to South America to play polo.”
“I told him that you and that friend of yours–I forget what his name is–had been out to the estancia and had handled Ebony as well as I’ve ever seen him handled. I told him that he could take the horse if he’d take you boys along to help with the rest of the polo ponies and keep a special eye on Ebony.”
Chip almost dropped the phone.
“Speak up, boy,” she demanded. “Are you still there.”
“Y-y-yes, Aunt Caroline,” he stammered. “We’d sure like to, but we’ve got to go to school.”
“Oh, fiddle! You can go to summer school. That’s no problem.” She brushed him aside imperiously. “Let me talk to that brother of mine. I can already hear him saying no.”
Aunt Caroline Edwards had a way of accomplishing what she set out to do. Chip had thought the scheme more fantastic than anything he had ever been asked to do, but talking to Aunt Caroline made it seem as simple and ordinary as going across the state for a short weekend. In a whir of activity he and Biff got their passports, shots, and made arrangements at a boarding school which Aunt Caroline had suggested they attend for the summer session.
They had enjoyed Christmas aboard ship, and a few days later they docked in the first South American country on their itinerary. Now they were resting their mounts at the Huerta Estancia before going out on the polo circuit.
It still seemed to be one of those things that couldn’t quite be true.
“And now we had to goof things up,” Chip said, more to himself than to his companion, “letting someone steal Mr. Griffen’s new polo saddle.”
2
A Shopping Trip for a Bible
BIFF NORRIS and Chip Edwards sauntered down toward the bunkhouse, thoughtfully. A gaunt, gray-haired handy man limped out of the long building, his arms loaded with blankets. Their eyes met his.
“Hi.”
Hippolito’s swarthy face was twisted with a warm, friendly grin, but his dark eyes were sharp, penetrating and unsmiling. They were eyes that missed but little of what went on about him. He was pleasant enough but he disturbed Biff unaccountably. “Buenos dias,” the tall stranger greeted them pleasantly. “Good morning.”
“It’s a beautiful day,” Chip said.
“Si, si.” He nodded his agreement. Hippolito acted as though he wanted to stop and talk with the boys, but they did not slacken pace. He went on to the barn and around the far corner, still limping painfully.
Biff and Chip watched him until he was out of sight. “Old Hippy’s quite a character, isn’t he?” the Norris boy said. “How long has he been working here on the Huerta Estancia, anyway?”
“I think he showed up here yesterday or the day before, as nearly as I can figure out. I heard Señor Huerta talking with him last night, and it sounded as though he wasn’t too familiar with things.”
“He sure keeps busy, though, for a guy with a game leg. I don’t think he’s stopped once since we’ve been here.” He picked up a twig and broke it, “He knows a lot about horses, too. You can tell that by the way he acts around them.”
“I know one thing about him,” Chip Edwards said. “He doesn’t miss much of what’s going on around here.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Ten minutes after Mr. Griffen discovered that the saddle was missing, old Hippy was limping around the barn taking everything in.”
“I didn’t figure him that way at all,” Biff countered. “It didn’t seem to me as though he cared at all about what was going on. I thought he was just trying to keep busy.”
They walked on past the bunkhouse toward a small calf corral.
“Could be,” Chip said without conviction. “He doesn’t act half as strange, though, as that government agent at the port acted. Remember him?”
“Come to think of it, he was a queer.”
They had just cleared customs when this Sebastian Alonzo, or so he called himself, came dashing up, breathlessly, as though he had run for a mile or two. “Your baggage it is our unfortunate duty to separate apart from each,” he said in his queer English.
Neither Biff nor Chip had quite understood what he was talking about until he moved to the huge wooden box filled with saddles and, raising the lid, began to go through its contents carefully.
Mr. Griffen saw what was happening and came hurrying over, anger glinting in his dark eyes and tinging his voice. “What’s the idea?” he demanded irritably. “Why are you going through our luggage and gear again? You have no right to do that. We just cleared customs.”
“Si.” He took his credentials from his pocket and showed them to the manager of the polo team. “I am Sebastian Alonzo, special agent of our government. We are begging your pardon, Señor, but this embarrassment is most necessary.”
He spoke pleasantly enough, but continued his search.
“It is true you have clear customs,” he said, turning back to his work, “but to be in the possibility to find these things we look for, now we must examine most closely.”
While Biff and Chip and the members of the polo team stood by, watching uneasily, two other men joined the government agent in his work.
For an hour and a half the trio labored painstakingly. Everything came out of the boxes, piece by piece. Riding gear, mallets and balls, personal belongings. The government agents checked the linings of each suitcase minutely and went through each box for false bottoms. At last, dirty and sweating, they finished the job.
Sebastian Alonzo straightened, wiped his hands on a towel, and directed his attention to Mr. Griffen.
“A thousand pardons, Señor,” he said. “It is our regrets that we have cause you this delay.”
“That’s
