the
mustang had warmed to his second wind, a gauntleted hand dropped to the
yellow neck and stroked it gently.

"Let 'em out a bit, Buck," said a voice, "let 'em out!" and with a flick
of the dainty ears, almost as if he understood, the little beast fell
into the steady swinging lope which was his natural gait, and which he
could follow if need be without a break from sun to sun.

On they went, the trail they were following unwinding like a great tape
steadily before them, the crunch of the frozen snow in their ears, tiny
particles of it flying to the side and behind like spray. But, bravely
as they were going, the horse ahead which had unwound that band of
tracks had moved more swiftly. Not within inches did the best efforts of
the buckskin approach those giant strides. It had been a desperate rider
who had urged such a pace; and the grim face of the tall youth grew
grimmer at the thought.

Not another sound than of their own making did they hear. Not an object
uncovered of white did they see, until, thirteen miles out, they passed
near the deserted Baker ranch; but the trail did not stop, nor did they,
and ere long it faded again from view. The course was dipping well to
the north now, and Ben realized that not again on his journey would he
pass in sight of a human habitation.

All that mortal day the buckskin pounded monotonously ahead. The sun
rose to the meridian, gazed warmly down upon them, softened the surface
of the frozen snow until the crunch sounded mellower, and slowly
descended to their left. The dainty ears of the pony, as the day waned,
flattened close to his head. Foam gathered beneath the saddle and
between the animal's legs; but doggedly relentless as his rider, he
forged ahead. Much in common had these two beings; more closely than
ever was their comradery cemented that day. Many times, with the same
motion as at first, the man had leaned over and patted that muscular
neck, dark and soiled now with perspiration. "Good old Buck," he said as
to a fellow, "good old Buck!" and each time the set ears had flicked
intelligently in response.

It was nearing sunset when they came in sight of the hills bordering the
river, and the last mile Ben drew the buckskin to a walk. The chain of
hoof-tracks had changed much since the morning. The buckskin could equal
the strides of the other now, and the follower was content. The evenings
were very short at this season of the year, and they would not attempt
to g