hought what a horse he
would be if he was left alone to live as God made him, and so--well--"
He paused again with an embarrassed laugh.

"You let him go?" cried Patches.

"It's God's truth, Patches. I couldn't do anything else--I just
couldn't. One of the boys came up just in time to catch me turning him
loose, and, of course, the whole outfit just naturally raised hell about
it. You see, in a chase like that, we always bunch all we get and sell
them off to the highest bidder, and every man in the outfit shares
alike. The boys figured that the black was worth more than any five
others that were caught, and so you couldn't blame them for feeling
sore. But I fixed it with them by turning all my share into the pot, so
they couldn't kick. That, you see, makes the black belong to me, in a
way, and it's pretty generally understood that I propose to take care of
him. There was a fellow, riding in the rodeo last fall, that took a shot
at him one day, and--well--he left the country right after it happened
and hasn't been seen around here since."

The cowboy grinned as his companion's laugh rang out.

"Do you know," Phil continued in a low tone, a few minutes later, "I
believe that horse knows me yet. Whenever I am over in this part of the
country I always have a look at him, if he happens to be around, and we
visit a little, as we did to-day. I've got a funny notion that he likes
it as much as I do, and, I can't tell how it is, but it sort of makes me
feel good all over just to see him. I reckon you think I'm some fool,"
he finished with another short laugh of embarrassment, "but that's the
way I feel--and that's why they call me 'Wild Horse Phil'."

For a little they rode in silence; then Patches spoke, gravely, "I don't
know how to tell you what I think, Phil, but I understand, and from the
bottom of my heart I envy you."

And the cowboy, looking at his companion, saw in the man's eyes
something that reminded him of that which he had seen in the wild
horse's eyes, that day when he had set him free. Had Patches, too, at
some time in those days that were gone, been caught by the riata of
circumstance or environment, and in some degree robbed of his
God-inheritance? Phil smiled at the fancy, but, smiling, felt its truth;
and with genuine sympathy felt this also to be true, that the man might
yet, by the strength that was deepest within him, regain that which he
had lost.

And so that day, as the man from the ranges and t