raised," went on the tormentor, "should always
fall."

He was apparently quoting from an authority against which there was no
appeal; now he concluded:

"Threats are for children, and yearlings; but a grown horse is above
them."

"The spirit of Harith has returned in Abra," said Jacob gloomily. "From
that month of April when he was foaled he has been a trial and a burden;
yes, if even a cloud blows over the moon he comes to my window and calls
me. There was never such a horse since Harith. However, he shall make
amends. Abra!"

The stallion stepped nearer and halted, alert.

"Go to him, fool. Go to the stranger and give him your head. Quick!"

The gray horse turned, hesitated, and then came straight to Connor, very
slowly; there he bowed his head and dropped his muzzle on the knee of
the white man, but all the while his eyes flared at the strange face in
terror. Jacob turned a proud smile upon Ephraim, and the latter nodded.

"It is a good colt," he admitted. "His heart is right, and in time he
may grow to some worth."

Once more Connor fumbled in his pocket.

"Steady," he said, looking squarely into the great, bright eyes.
"Steady, boy."

He put his hand under the nose of the stallion.

"It's a new smell, but little different."

Abra snorted softly, but though he shook he dared not move. The gambler,
with a side glance, saw the two men watching intently.

"Ah," said Connor, "you have pulled against a headstall here, eh?"

He touched an old scar on the cheek of the horse, and Abra closed his
eyes, but opened them again when he discovered that no harm was done to
him by the tips of those gentle fingers.

"You may let him have his head again," said Connor. "He will not leave
me now until he is ordered."

"So?" exclaimed Jacob. "We shall see! Enough Abra!"

The gray tossed up his head at that word, but after he had taken one
step he returned and touched the back of the white man's hand, snuffed
at his shoulder and at his hat and then stood with pricking ears. A soft
exclamation came in unison from Jacob and Ephraim.

"I have never seen it before," muttered Jacob. "To see it, one would say
he was a son of Julanda."

"It is my teaching and not the blood of Julanda that gives my horses
manners," corrected Ephraim. "However, if I might look in the hand of
the stranger--"

"There is nothing in it," answered Connor, smiling, and he held out both
empty palms. "All horses are like this with me."

"Is it