zing
Star was torn down and carried away.

Jim was looking for a new mount, when one day Cattleman Kyle appeared in
the town, and they met for a few minutes at the blacksmith shop.

"Hello, Jim! What are you riding these days?" was his greeting.

"To tell the truth, I'm afoot, hard afoot," was the reply.

"Anything in sight?"

"Not yet."

"Come with me for a minute. I'm cutting down my saddle stock for the
winter. I've got a bunch of bronchos in the corral by the river. Have a
look at them."

Jim went rather reluctantly; his heart was still sore over Blazing Star,
and he was not ready yet to put another into the vacant place. After a
silent five minutes' walk, they reached the corral with fifty horses of
all colours, sizes, and shapes. Then Kyle said: "Jim, I've been
thinking, preachers ain't exactly broken-backed carrying their
spondulix. I kind o' think I owe ye something in the way of
possibilities for putting Blazing Star in hands which may be a big help
to me. So there's my bunch; you can go over them at your own time and
pick the best as a free gift."

"Ye mean it?"

"That's what I mean, and there's my hand on it," said Kyle. And it was
so. That was the way of the old-time cattleman. If he lived at all, his
money came in large chunks. He lived lavishly, and made a fortune, if
moderately lucky. So they were a generous lot; they were truly cattle
kings.

But the cattle king reducing his horse herd does not select his best
stock for the hammer; quite the reverse. Some would have called his
bunch the scrubs and tailings of the Circle K ranch. Hartigan knew that;
but he also knew that it must contain some unbroken horses and he asked
to see them. There were ten, and of these he selected the biggest. A man
of his weight must have a better mount than a pony. So the tall,
rawboned, black three-year-old was roped and handed over to the
Preacher. Kyle did not fail to warn him that "Midnight" had a temper.

"Faith, it's mesilf can see that," said Hartigan, "but he isn't broken
yet, and that means his temper isn't spoiled. And it's mesilf will bring
him to time, and he never will be broke. If your broncho-busters take
him in hand, they'll ride him in a week, but they'll make a divil of
him. I'll take him in hand and in three months I'll have him following
me round with tears in his eyes, just begging me to get on his back, and
go for a run."

Who that knows the horse will doubt it? Hartigan's first aim was to