never came. Instead,
the cowboy walked cautiously toward the wounded stallion.

No move did Black Eagle make, no fear did he show. With a splendid
indifference worthy of a martyr he sat there, paying no more heed to his
approaching enemy than to the red stream which trickled down his
shoulder. He was helpless and knew it, but his noble courage was
unshaken. Even when the man came close enough to examine the wound and
pat the shining neck that for three years had known neither touch of
hand nor bridle-rein, the great stallion did no more than follow with
curious, steady gaze.

It is an odd fact that a feral horse, although while free even wilder
and fiercer than those native to the prairies, when once returned to
captivity resumes almost instantly the traits and habits of domesticity.
So it was with Black Eagle. With no more fuss than he would have made
when he was a colt in paddock he allowed the cowboy to wash and dress
his wounded shoulder and to lead him about by the halter.

By a little stream that rounded the base of a big butte, Lefty--for it
was he--made camp, and every day for a week he applied to Black Eagle's
shoulder a fresh poultice of pounded cactus leaves. In that time the big
stallion and the silent man buried distrust and hate and enmity. No
longer were they captive and captor. They came nearer to being congenial
comrades than anything else, for in the calm solitudes of the vast
plains such sentiments may thrive.

So, when the wound was fully healed, the black permitted himself to be
bridled and saddled. With the cow pony following as best it might they
rode toward Santa Fe.

With Black Eagle's return to the cramped quarters of peopled places
there came experiences entirely new to him. Every morning he was
saddled by Lefty and ridden around a fence-enclosed course. At first he
was allowed to set his own gait, but gradually he was urged to show his
speed. This was puzzling but not a little to his liking. Also he enjoyed
the oats twice a day and the careful grooming after each canter. He
became accustomed to stall life and to the scent and voices of men about
him, although as yet he trusted none but Lefty. Ever kind and
considerate he had found Lefty. There were times, of course, when Black
Eagle longed to be again on the prairie at the head of his old band, but
the joy of circling the track almost made up for the loss of those wild
free dashes.

One day when Lefty took him out Black Eagle found man