, exhausted, beside him, dream of the test that
was to be made of his courage while he remained behind. He seemed so
fagged that Ted did not even wake him, when at last he deemed it time to
sally forth.

Ted loved nothing better than a good horse.

The plainsman, he used to argue, may have his twin six, the airman his
ship, but for the outdoor man, give him the comrade who can take the
mountain trails, the needle carpeted forest floor, the unbridged streams,
the glacier polished slopes.

The black horse wore the high Visalia saddle, against which his rider
could rest on steep grades. It would be more dangerous, should the animal
throw him, though of course the high horn would help him to pull leather
should need arise. He had lengthened the stirrups, Western fashion, till
his long legs dangled easily and he could have raised himself scarce an
inch above the saddle by standing in his stirrups. His long, lean legs
would give him a good hold where the going was rough, and if he had only
a quirt, or even a pair of drop-shank spurs, he would have felt confident
of making time. (For he knew how to use the spurs so that they would not
torture his animal.) He regretted that the mysterious owner had not
fitted the poor brute with the old spade bit, for should the horse fall,
on the uneven ground, it would be likely to cut his mouth badly. He had
once seen an animal bleed to death from such a hurt. Well, they must not
fall!

Mechanically he opened the reins, as was his habit:--His own horse had
been trained to hitch to the ground, and all he had to do when he
dismounted in a hurry was to drop rein. He was glad to find that the
saddle was rim fire, (or double-rigged), as it would stay in place, no
matter what acrobatics they might be forced to perform. So far, so good!

With right hand on the saddle horn, left grasping rein and mane, he swung
up, and before ever he touched leather, they were off.

Would his mount prove broncho? Had his probably Mexican owner uglied his
disposition? That remained to be discovered. And on that detail would
depend much of the success of his race for help. For with Norris at the
far end of the ridge, there would be several hours of tough going, he
surmised.

"Yes, sir, you shore gotta _slope_ some!" he told the mustang, in
imitation of the cowmen. "Or those Greasers will just naturally fade out
of the landscape."

As the night wind blew the smoke down canyon, he could very nearly tell
his wa