as a jack rabbit.

Jim's was a light bay with a white face and wall eyed. Three of his feet
were marked white. He was a vicious brute at times and only Jim could
manage him. But he certainly could run.

Tom's animal was a sorrel with his forefeet white. He was the best
looking among the three, but that was not saying much. However for real
work they were tireless, and could stand almost anything.

We finally got our ponies in line and the captain held his pistol high
over his head.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready," we replied in unison, grasping tight the lines.

Then he fired and our ponies scampered away across the level plain. I
got the jump on the bunch but Jim's bay came up with a rush until his
nose was even with my horse's shoulder. The ponies entered into the
spirit of the occasion all right.

"Go it, Piute," yelled Jim.

Then he put his spurs into Piute's flank and with his own fierce energy
he carried him ahead of me.

"Wow! Wow! Coyote!" I yelled, "catch him!"

Coyote certainly went after Piute for fair. Tom was at my heels. The
scant prairie dust flew back from the scampering heels of our flying
ponies.

It was fun! Wild fun for us and how we enjoyed the speed and the
rivalry. I was determined that Coyote should win. The finish was only a
hundred yards away.

With all of the energy that I would have put into a foot race I urged
Coyote along. It was neck and neck between Jim and me. Tom was out of
it, a length behind.

"Whoop la!" I yelled, as I drove my spurs into Coyote's flanks. He
responded and with a tremendous scamper of speed he beat Piute to the
tree by a neck. We put as much energy into it as though there had been a
thousand dollars at stake.

"Well run, boys," said the captain, "who won?"

"I did of course," I replied, modestly.

"Nothing but luck," growled Jim, "in another fifty feet I would have
beaten you."

Piute's attainments and qualifications were the one subject on which Jim
was tender, in all other directions, he was care free and cheerful.

"You may call it luck if it will do your feelings any good," I said,
"but Coyote is the horse if you want to get over the ground."

"Or go up in the air," said Tom.

"Well yes," I admitted, "he is kind of high-spirited, but I would much
rather have that sort than one after the rocking horse style."

All that day we rode along the edge of the foothills and to the east of
us was the great sweep of plains. We kept a sharp lookout for