The boy followed to watch Drew make the record on the margin of Shadow's
papers. As the Kentuckian explained, Callie was deeply interested.

"You mean as how you can tell way back jus' what hosses bred your hosses?
That's sure somethin'! Round here we knows a good hoss, but we ain't
always sure of his pa, not if he's wild stuff."

"Lots of wild horses hereabouts then?"

"Sure. Some're jus' mustangs; other's good stuff gone wild--run off by th'
'Paches an' broke loose, or got away from a 'wet hoss' band--"

"'Wet horse' band?"

Callie glanced at him a little sharply. "How come you ain't knowin' 'bout
'wet hosses'? Heard tell as how they have 'em that same trouble down Texas
way--"

"But I don't come from the border country."

"Well, Texas sure is a great big piece o' country, so maybe you don't know
'bout them river tricks. Wet hosses--they's hosses what is run off up here,
driven down to th' border where they's swapped for hosses what some Mex
_bandidos_ have thrown a sticky loop over. Then th' Mexes take them Anglo
hosses south an' sell 'em, where their brands ain't gonna git nobody into
noose trouble. An' th' stolen Mex hosses, they's drove up here an' maybe
sold to some of th' same fellas what lost th' others. Hosses git
themselves lost 'long them back-country trails, specially if they's pushed
hard. So them strays join up with th' wild ones. Iffen a mustanger can
rope him one an' bring it in ... well, if it's a good one, maybe so he'll
git a reward from th' man what's lost him. Heard tell that _Don_ Cazar,
he's set some good rewards on a coupla studs as was run off th' Range this
summer."

"_Don_ Cazar has good horses?"

"'Bout th' best in these here parts. He runs 'em on th' Range th' old
style--stud an' twenty--twenty-five mares together in a _manada_, all one
color to a band. They sure is a grand sight: band o' roans, then one o'
duns, an' some blacks. He's got one _manada_ all of grullas. Sells some to
th' army, drives more clear to Californy. An' th' old _Dons_ down in
Sonora come up once in a while to pick them out some fancy saddle stock.
He sure would enjoy seem' these grays o' yours. Iffen you ever want to
sell, _Don_ Cazar'd give you top price."

"But I'm not sellin'." Drew folded the piece of paper he had been waving
to dry the ink and put it back in the belt pocket. "What's that?"

He could almost believe he heard an army bugle, but the call it sounded
was unlike any cavalry signal he had kno