e looked at the excited boy, and the Sheriff glanced rather
suspiciously at him, for, strange to say, the brand on the yellow
broncho had puzzled him more than all the others, being quite unknown
to him.

He called out sharply, 'Say! what does that boy know about that horse?
Tell him to come here.'

Jack led Buckskin up to where he stood, and said quietly, 'This horse
belongs to my dad. Here's his brand, V.C., on his hip, and he has an
old scar that was done once when he was shot just afore we got him.'

'Where is it?' asked the Sheriff dubiously.

'Here!' returned Jack promptly, as he lifted Buckskin's mane and showed
the place, plain enough, where a bullet had once passed through the
neck. 'I could swear to Buckskin anywhere.'

'You're right, my lad,' said the Sheriff, after looking carefully at
the scar. 'And who's your dad?'

'George Wilson,' answered Jack. 'He lives on the Cochetopa Creek, and
freights up and down the mountains.'

'Does anyone know George Wilson, of Cochetopa Creek?' asked the
Sheriff, appealing to the crowd.

A man stood forward and said, 'I guess I saw the man you want last
week, if he's an Englishman. I didn't know his name, for he's only
just moved up to a small ranch about fifteen miles from here. I do
believe when I met him as he was drivin' a sorrel broncho, the same
colour as that one, but I never noticed the brand.'

'Joe! Joe! d'you hear that?' exclaimed Jack, in his joyful surprise
forgetting the Sheriff and everyone else. 'We're close to home after
all. Isn't it grand?'

The Sheriff looked puzzled at this outburst, until Champion Joe, who
was well known to him, came forward and briefly told Jack's story. He
also testified to Jack's good character, and finally persuaded the
officer to give over the stolen horse into their hands. A proud boy
was our hero when, a few hours later, he drove out of Redwood in Joe's
buckboard, having Buckskin securely fastened on behind.

The weather had decidedly changed since the day before, and the sky
looked dark and lowering as they drove along the prairie road. Jack,
however, was in high spirits, for he was drawing close to the end of
his long journey, and was thinking he would soon see his dear father
and mother.

'We'll make your home by evening if we have good luck,' said Joe
cheerfully; 'but I'm feared as we're in for a snowstorm, and maybe a
blizzard.'

Joe was right. As they got a little further on their way, the snow