llets and that
they had not seen the last of the horse. She dared not trust herself to
answer Lew but glanced at the other men to see if they were not smiling
at their foreman's absurd idea; they were as grave as images.

"The chestnut wanted to get back at us for killing his herd off," went
on Hervey. "So he sneaks up to the ranch and opens the corral gate and
takes the mares out. When I seen the mares were traveling so straight as
all that I guessed what was up. Well, if the hoss was leading 'em, where
would he take 'em? Straight to water. They was no use trying to run down
them long-legged gallopers. I took a swing off to the right and headed
for Warner's Tank. Sure enough, when we got there we seen the mares
spread out and the chestnut and the grey mare hanging around."

He paused again and looked sternly at Slim, and Slim flushed to the eyes
and glared straight ahead.

"Slim, here, had been saying maybe it was my bum shooting and not the
bad luck the stallion put on my rifle that made me miss. So I give him
the job of plugging the hoss. Well, he tried and missed three times. Off
goes the grey and the chestnut like a streak the first crack out of the
box, but we got ahead of the mares and turned 'em. And here we are.
That's all they was to it. But," he added gravely, "we ain't seen the
last of that chestnut hoss, Miss Jordan."

"I guess hardly another man on the range could have trailed them so
well," she said gratefully. "But this wild horse--do you really think
he'll try to steal our mares again?"

"Think? I know! And the next time we won't get 'em back so plumb easy.
Right this morning, if they'd got started quick enough when he give 'em
the signal, we'd never of headed 'em. But they ain't turned wild yet;
they ain't used to his ways. Give him another whirl with them and
they'll belong to him for good. Ain't no hosses around these parts can
run them mares down!"

She heard the tribute with a smile of pleasure and ran satisfied glances
over the six beauties which cantered or trotted before them.

"But even wild things are captured," she argued. "Even deer are caught.
If the chestnut _did_ run off the mares again why couldn't--"

Hervey interrupted dryly: "Down Concord way, Jess Rankin was pestered by
a black mustang. Jess was a pretty tolerable fair hunter, knowed
mustangs and mustang-ways, and had a right fine string of saddle hosses.
Well, it took Jess four years of hard work to get the black. Up by
Mex