tain Dave. He found his blankets,
rolled up in them, and promptly fell asleep. For once he dreamed, and his
dreams were not pleasant. He thought that he was caught in a net woven by
a horribly fat spider which watched him try in vain to break the web that
tightened on his arms and legs. Desperately he struggled to escape while
the monster grinned at him maliciously, and the harder he fought the more
securely was he enmeshed.

CHAPTER II

THE RACE

The coyotes were barking when the cook's triangle brought Dave from his
blankets. The objects about him were still mysterious in the pre-dawn
darkness. The shouting of the wranglers and the bells of the remuda
came musically as from a great distance. Hart joined his friend and the
two young men walked out to the remuda together. Each rider had on the
previous night belled the mount he wanted, for he knew that in the
morning it would be too dark to distinguish one bronco from another. The
animals were rim-milling, going round and round in a circle to escape the
lariat.

Dave rode in close and waited, rope ready, his ears attuned to the sound
of his own bell. A horse rushed jingling past. The rope snaked out, fell
true, tightened over the neck of the cowpony, brought up the animal
short. Instantly it surrendered, making no further, attempt to escape.
The roper made a half-hitch round the nose of the bronco, swung to its
back, and cantered back to camp.

In the gray dawn near details were becoming visible. The mountains began
to hover on the edge of the young world. The wind was blowing across half
a continent.

Sanders saddled, then rode out upon the mesa. He whistled sharply. There
came an answering nicker, and presently out of the darkness a pony
trotted. The pinto was a sleek and glossy little fellow, beautiful in
action and gentle as a kitten.

The young fellow took the well-shaped head in his arms, fondled the
soft, dainty nose that nuzzled in his pocket for sugar, fed Chiquito a
half-handful of the delicacy in his open palm, and put the pony through
the repertoire of tricks he had taught his pet.

"You wanta shake a leg to-day, old fellow, and throw dust in that
tinhorn's face," he murmured to his four-footed friend, gentling it with
little pats of love and admiration. "Adios, Chiquito. I know you won't
throw off on yore old pal. So long, old pie-eater."

Across the mesa Dave galloped back, swung from the saddle, and made a
bee-line for breakfast. The o