out of sight of the cabin, and could see only
the billowy plain, the red tips of the stony wall, and the
black-fringed crest of Buckskin. After riding a while we made out some
cattle, a few of which were on the range, browsing in the lee of a
ridge. No sooner had I marked them than Jones let out another Comanche
yell.

"Wolf!" he yelled; and spurring his big bay, he was off like the wind.

A single glance showed me several cows running as if bewildered, and
near them a big white wolf pulling down a calf. Another white wolf
stood not far off. My horse jumped as if he had been shot; and the
realization darted upon me that here was where the certain something
began. Spot--the mustang had one black spot in his pure white--snorted
like I imagined a blooded horse might, under dire insult. Jones's bay
had gotten about a hundred paces the start. I lived to learn that Spot
hated to be left behind; moreover, he would not be left behind; he was
the swiftest horse on the range, and proud of the distinction. I cast
one unmentionable word on the breeze toward the cabin and Frank, then
put mind and muscle to the sore task of remaining with Spot. Jones was
born on a saddle, and had been taking his meals in a saddle for about
sixty-three years, and the bay horse could run. Run is not a felicitous
word--he flew. And I was rendered mentally deranged for the moment to
see that hundred paces between the bay and Spot materially lessen at
every jump. Spot lengthened out, seemed to go down near the ground, and
cut the air like a high-geared auto. If I had not heard the fast
rhythmic beat of his hoofs, and had not bounced high into the air at
every jump, I would have been sure I was riding a bird. I tried to stop
him. As well might I have tried to pull in the Lusitania with a thread.
Spot was out to overhaul that bay, and in spite of me, he was doing it.
The wind rushed into my face and sang in my ears. Jones seemed the
nucleus of a sort of haze, and it grew larger and larger. Presently he
became clearly defined in my sight; the violent commotion under me
subsided; I once more felt the saddle, and then I realized that Spot
had been content to stop alongside of Jones, tossing his head and
champing his bit.

"Well, by George! I didn't know you were in the stretch," cried my
companion. "That was a fine little brush. We must have come several
miles. I'd have killed those wolves if I'd brought a gun. The big one
that had the calf was a bold brute