way with dull, heavy sound of hoofs, he
disappeared in the gloom. "Wilder than ever!" muttered Venters. He
followed the sorrel into the narrowing split between the walls, and
presently had to desist because he could not see a foot in advance. As
he went back toward the open Wrangle jumped out of an ebony shadow of
cliff and like a thunderbolt shot huge and black past him down into
the starlit glade. Deciding that all attempts to catch Wrangle at night
would be useless, Venters repaired to the shelving rock where he had
hidden saddle and blanket, and there went to sleep.

The first peep of day found him stirring, and as soon as it was light
enough to distinguish objects, he took his lasso off his saddle and went
out to rope the sorrel. He espied Wrangle at the lower end of the cove
and approached him in a perfectly natural manner. When he got near
enough, Wrangle evidently recognized him, but was too wild to stand.
He ran up the glade and on into the narrow lane between the walls. This
favored Venters's speedy capture of the horse, so, coiling his noose
ready to throw, he hurried on. Wrangle let Venters get to within a
hundred feet and then he broke. But as he plunged by, rapidly getting
into his stride, Venters made a perfect throw with the rope. He had
time to brace himself for the shock; nevertheless, Wrangle threw him and
dragged him several yards before halting.

"You wild devil," said Venters, as he slowly pulled Wrangle up. "Don't
you know me? Come now--old fellow--so--so--"

Wrangle yielded to the lasso and then to Venters's strong hand. He was
as straggly and wild-looking as a horse left to roam free in the sage.
He dropped his long ears and stood readily to be saddled and bridled.
But he was exceedingly sensitive, and quivered at every touch and sound.
Venters led him to the thicket, and, bending the close saplings to let
him squeeze through, at length reached the open. Sharp survey in each
direction assured him of the usual lonely nature of the canyon, then he
was in the saddle, riding south.

Wrangle's long, swinging canter was a wonderful ground-gainer. His
stride was almost twice that of an ordinary horse; and his endurance was
equally remarkable. Venters pulled him in occasionally, and walked him
up the stretches of rising ground and along the soft washes. Wrangle
had never yet shown any indication of distress while Venters rode him.
Nevertheless, there was now reason to save the horse, therefore Venter