of lions."

Since, then, a mustang is worthless vermin, and a black mustang ten
times worse than worthless, Jo's pard "didn't see no sense in Jo's
wantin' to corral the yearling," as he now seemed intent on doing. But
Jo got no chance to try that year.

He was only a cow-puncher on $25 a month, and tied to hours. Like most
of the boys, he always looked forward to having a ranch and an outfit
of his own. His brand, the hogpen, of sinister suggestion, was already
registered at Santa Fe, but of horned stock it was borne by a single old
cow, so as to give him a legal right to put his brand on any maverick
(or unbranded animal) he might chance to find.

Yet each fall, when paid off, Jo could not resist the temptation to go
to town with the boys and have a good time 'while the stuff held out.'
So that his property consisted of little more than his saddle, his bed,
and his old cow. He kept on hoping to make a strike that would leave him
well fixed with a fair start, and when the thought came that the Black
Mustang was his mascot, he only needed a chance to 'make the try.'

The roundup circled down to the Canadian River, and back in the fall by
the Don Carlos Hills, and Jo saw no more of the Pacer, though he heard
of him from many quarters, for the colt, now a vigorous, young horse,
rising three, was beginning to be talked of.

Antelope Springs is in the middle of a great level plain. When the water
is high it spreads into a small lake with a belt of sedge around it;
when it is low there is a wide flat of black mud, glistening white with
alkali in places, and the spring a water-hole in the middle. It has no
flow or outlet and is fairly good water, the only drinking-place for
many miles.

This flat, or prairie as it would be called farther north, was the
favorite feeding-ground of the Black Stallion, but it was also the
pasture of many herds of range horses and cattle. Chiefly interested was
the 'L cross F' outfit. Foster, the manager and part owner, was a man of
enterprise. He believed it would pay to handle a better class of cattle
and horses on the range, and one of his ventures was ten half-blooded
mares, tall, clean-limbed, deer-eyed creatures that made the scrub
cow-ponies look like pitiful starvelings of some degenerate and quite
different species.

One of these was kept stabled for use, but the nine, after the weaning
of their colts, managed to get away and wandered off on the range.

A horse has a fine instinc