nt Jack Belllounds appeared upon the scene. The cowboys
took no notice of him. Jim was bandaging a leg of his horse; Bludsoe was
wearily gathering up his saddle and trappings; Lem was giving his tired
mustang a parting slap that meant much. Moore evidently awaited a fresh
mount. A Mexican lad had come in out of the pasture leading several
horses, one of which was the mottled white mustang that Moore rode most
of the time.

Belllounds lounged forward with interest as Moore whistled, and the
mustang showed his pleasure. Manifestly he did not like the Mexican boy
and he did like Moore.

"Spottie, it's drag yearlings around for you to-day," said the cowboy,
as he caught the mustang. Spottie tossed his head and stepped high until
the bridle was on. When the saddle was thrown and strapped in place the
mustang showed to advantage. He was beautiful, but not too graceful or
sleek or fine-pointed or prancing to prejudice any cowboy against his
qualities for work.

Jack Belllounds admiringly walked all around the mustang a little too
close to please Spottie.

"Moore, he's a fair-to-middling horse," said Belllounds, with the air of
judge of horseflesh. "What's his name?"

"Spottie," replied Moore, shortly, as he made ready to mount.

"Hold on, will you!" ordered Jack, peremptorily. "I like this horse. I
want to look him over."

When he grasped the bridle-reins out of the cowboy's hand Spottie jumped
as if he had been shot at. Belllounds jerked at him and went closer. The
mustang reared, snorting, plunging to get loose. Then Jack Belllounds
showed the sudden temper for which he was noted. Red stained his
pale cheeks.

"Damn you--come down!" he shouted, infuriated at the mustang, and with
both hands he gave a powerful lunge. Spottie came down, and stood there,
trembling all over, his ears laid back, his eyes showing fright and
pain. Blood dripped from his mouth where the bit had cut him.

"I'll teach you to stand," said Belllounds, darkly. "Moore, lend me your
spurs. I want to try him out."

"I don't lend my spurs--or my horse, either," replied the cowboy,
quietly, with a stride that put him within reach of Spottie.

The other cowboys had dropped their trappings and stood at attention,
with intent gaze and mute lips.

"Is he your horse?" demanded Jack, with a quick flush.

"I reckon so," replied Moore, slowly. "No one but me ever rode him."

"Does my father own him or do you own him?"

"Well, if that's the way you