whirling and
interlaced, a grim, struggling mass in death-grips. It swept
close--crashed over him, struck him full. He felt the impact--then
another. The ground rose and struck him. And now there fell upon him a
great and wonderful peace--and a blank--then a voice, a familiar voice,
and he drifted into unconsciousness.

He was wakened by a fiery liquid in his throat. He slowly opened his
eyes. He saw men and horses, many of them, standing or reclining in
small groups. He saw them between the legs of a group immediately around
him--men gazing down at him pitifully. As he lay thus dazed he heard the
familiar voice again. It was sounding his name. He struggled to his
feet. Steadying himself against his dizziness, he looked curiously at
the young man standing before him. And suddenly he recognized him. This
was his young master with the white around his arm and neck--the young
man who had ridden him into the Mexican settlement, and who had been so
good to him there, giving him generous quantities of alfalfa. He--But
the voice was sounding again.

"You poor dumb brute!" said Stephen, quietly; and Pat liked the petting
he received. "You've just come through hell! But--but if they get you
again--anywhere, friend of mine--they'll wade through hell themselves to
do it." He was silent. "Pat, old boy," he concluded, finally, "you're
going back home! I--I'm through!"

A strange thing took place in Pat. Hearing this voice now, and seeing
the owner of it, though he had seen him and heard his voice many times
just before this last heartbreaking task under a strange master, he
suddenly found himself thinking of the little ranch beside the river,
and of his loving mistress, and also the cold and cruel Mexican hostler.
And, thinking of them, he found himself thinking also of another, one
who had accompanied him and his mistress on many delightful trips in the
valley and up on the mesa in the shadow of the mountains. And now,
thinking of this person, he somehow recognized this young man before him
fully, and wondered why this had not come to him before. For this was
the same young man--curiously pale, curiously drawn and haggard--but yet
the same man. Understanding, understanding everything, he nickered
softly and pressed close, mindful of yet another thing--something that
had helped to make his life on the little ranch so pleasant and
unforgettable. What he was mindful of, and what he now sought, was sugar
and quartered apples.