pted them as his destination. In that grove perhaps was water, an
opportunity for rest, and abundance of food. So he continued forward,
grimly conscious of his burning ankles, his pounding and fluttering
heart and heaving and clamoring lungs--plunging forward under the weak
urging of his heavy master, responding now through force of
habit--feeling that because he was in motion he must continue in motion.
It was a numb, mechanical effort, involuntary and apart from him, as
much apart from his control as was the beating of his heart.

Another volley came from the rear, and with it another violent change in
his master. The man cried out and loosened his feet in the stirrups. Yet
Pat continued to gallop until he felt the weight slowly leaving him,
felt it go altogether, felt it dangling from one stirrup. Then he came
to a stop. As he did so the little gray dashed past--his friend. And now
great loneliness gripped him. He started forward. But the weight in his
stirrup checked him. He came to a stop again. Then he wanted to nicker
in protest, but he found that he could not. He was too weak to utter
sound. So he stood there, his eyes upon the little gray and her rider,
watching them hurtling toward the grove. Then the thudding of hoofs came
to his ears from the rear, and, slowly turning, he saw a group of
horsemen riding wearily--one hatless; another with flaying quirt; a
third with smoking carbine; a fourth, a large man, smooth and red of
face, riding heavily--all galloping toward him.

But they did not hold his interest. His heart and soul lay with the
little gray mare, and, turning to the front again, he saw mare and rider
swinging out of sight around the end of the grove. Confidently he
watched for their appearance beyond. Presently he saw them sweep into
view again--moving at a gallop, swinging across a wide plain that held
them clear to his straining eyes--saw them grow faint and fainter, small
and ever smaller--become a hazy speck on the horizon--finally disappear
from view in the engulfing dunes and vales of the surrounding desert.
And now, weakened as he was, he sounded a forlorn, protracted nicker of
protest.

The rangers pulled up, breathless. They dismounted stiffly, released the
weight from Pat's stirrup, and carried it off a little ways. He watched
them a moment, noting their ease of movement and business-like air, and
then turned his gaze to the horses. All were strange to him, and he
looked them over frankly,