know I could do it, too!"

They looked fiercely at each other for a moment. Father Orin was of a
fiery spirit, and all his goodness could not always subdue it. Tommy Dye
was a ready and a good fighter, but he paused now, and silently
regarded the priest. He looked at his large, sturdy form, at his brawny
shoulders, at his deep chest and his long arms, remembering suddenly
that he had seen him roll, with his own hands, the largest logs in the
little chapel which no one else could move.

"I reckon you could," Tommy Dye finally conceded frankly.

Father Orin burst into his good-humored, chuckling laugh, and Tommy Dye
grinned, but their faces sobered instantly. The pity of it touched and
moved the priest through his sense of humor. The gambler was softened
and ashamed, he hardly knew why. With one simultaneous impulse they sent
their horses forward, and coming closer together clasped hands.

"God bless and guard you, my friend," said Father Orin. "You can't keep
me from saying that, and you can't help my praying for your safety,"
trying to smile.

Tommy Dye found nothing more to say and, laughing very loud, he put
spurs to his horse and galloped away through the darkening forest.
Father Orin and Toby stood still looking after him till he had passed
out of sight. And then they turned to go on their way. They went along
in silence for a while, and at last Father Orin began the conversation
with a heavy sigh. "Well, old man, there's another bad failure that we
have got to set down in our book--you and me. That was another of the
times when we didn't know what to do. That is to say, I didn't. I
suppose you did--you always do. You never make mistakes and lose your
temper like I do nearly every day. If I could do my part as well as you
do yours, we wouldn't fail so often, would we, old man?"

Toby quickly turned his head with a friendly, encouraging whinny, as if
he saw his co-worker's trouble and wanted to give him what comfort he
could. He always seemed to know as well when his friend needed
encouragement as when he required to be kept up to his duty. It is a
wonderful, wonderful thing, this bond between the good rider and the
good horse! It is so wonderfully close and strong; the closest and
strongest binding the human being to his brute brother. It is infinitely
more subtle too, than that which binds any other, even the kindest
master to the most faithful dog; for the man and his horse are not
merely master and servant