g to themselves, each
undoubtedly having a leader.

Blinky swore lustily in his enthusiasm, evidently thinking of the money
thus represented. "---- ---- ---- who'd ever think of these heah
broomies turnin' into a gold mine?" he ended his tribute to the scene.

But to Pan it meant much more than fortune; indeed at first he had no
mercenary thought whatsoever. Horses had been the passion of his life.
Cattle had been only beef, hoofs, horns to him. Horses he loved.
Naturally then wild horses would appeal to him with more thrill and
transport than those that acknowledged the mastery of man.

Cowboys were of an infinite variety of types, yet they all fell under
two classes: Those who were brutal with horses and those who were
gentle. The bronco, the outlaw, the wild horse had to be broken to be
ridden. Many of them hated the saddle, the bit, the rider, and would
not tolerate them except when mastered. These horses had to be hurt to
be subdued. Then there were cowboys, great horsemen, who never wanted
any kind of a horse save one that would kick, bite, pitch. It was a
kind of cowboy vanity. Panhandle Smith did not have it. He had broken
bad horses and he had ridden outlaws, but because of his humanity he
was not so great a horseman as he might have been. In almost every
outfit where Pan had worked there had always been one cowboy, sometimes
more, who could beat him riding.

Because of this genuine love for horses, the beautiful wild-horse
panorama beneath Pan swelled his heart. He gazed and gazed. From near
to far the bands dotted the green-gray valley. Far away this valley
floor shaded into blue. Near at hand the colors were easily
distinguishable. Blacks and bays, whites and chestnuts, pintos that
resembled zebras dotted this wild pasture land. The closest band to
where Pan and Blinky stood could not have been more than a mile
distant, in a straight line. A shiny black stallion was the leader of
this herd. He was acting strangely, too, trotting forward and halting,
tossing his head and long black mane.

"Stallion!" exclaimed Pan, pointing. "What a jim-dandy horse! Blink,
he has spotted us, sure as you're born. Talk about eyesight!"

"Wal, the broomtailed son-of-a-bronc!" drawled Blinky, tapping a
cigarette against his palm. "Reckon, by gosh, you're correct."

"Blink, that's a wild stallion--a wonderful horse. I'll bet he's game
and fast," protested Pan.

"Wal, you're safe to gamble on his be