old. Her colt out of Saxon?
Say there was a bit of horse flesh for you! Close to three year old
now and never a rope on him. Little Saxon they called him. Little?
Big Bill laughed softly. The name had stuck since he had been a colt.
He was bigger than his dad already, although not so heavy, of course,
and he had more speed right now than his mother ever thought of having.
If they ever did put on a race--Endymion, Little Saxon's full brother?
Big Bill shook his head and spat thoughtfully. Sold six months ago.

"Sold?" cried Shandon sharply. "Who sold him?"

"Conway, of course. He's the only man as has sold any Bar L-M stock."

Shandon started to speak, then closed his lips tightly. Big Bill
looked at him quickly, then drew his eyes away and let them rest upon
his horse's bobbing ears.

"Of course Garth couldn't know that I didn't want any of the horses,
the best horses, sold," Shandon said quietly after a moment. "I wrote
to him to use his own judgment in all things, to sell and buy as he
thought best. It isn't his fault but-- Hang it, I'm just a little
sorry I didn't think to tell him. Who bought Endymion, Bill?"

"Sledge Hume," answered Big Bill. "He was crazy stuck on the colt the
firs' time he ever laid eyes on him. I guess Conway held him up for a
pretty stiff price too. He sure had the chance."

"So Hume bought Endymion," said Shandon thoughtfully. And he seemed
less pleased than before. "Oh, well, we'll see what we can do with
Little Saxon."

"Little Saxon's a better horse any day in the week," cried Big Bill
loyally. "He ain't got the stren'th yet, of course, an' he ain't got
the savvy as comes with trainin'. But he's got the speed an' he's got
the spirit. Lord, Red, you've got a horse there! Wait ontil you see
him runnin' with the herd. He don't eat dust off nobody's heels."

Shandon's eyes brightened. He had seen possibilities in the two year
old before he went away, when the colt belonged to Arthur, and it was
good to know that Little Saxon had fulfilled the promise of youth. And
he saw too, a morning's work ahead of him, such work as the leaping
spirit of Red Reckless loved. A wild scamper across the upper end of
the narrow valley, skirting the lake perhaps; a headlong race after a
horse born of Brown Babe and the high spirited stallion Saxon; the
swinging of a rope in a hand that had not known the feel of one for a
year; and the final conquest that would come when at last th