his horse,
which fairly flew, but shortened up the space between by not a single
inch. For the Black One whirled across the flat and up and passed a
soap-weed mesa and down across a sandy treacherous plain, then over a
grassy stretch where prairie dogs barked, then hid below, and on came
Jo, but there to see, could he believe his eyes, the Stallion's start
grown longer still, and Jo began to curse his luck, and urge and spur
his horse until the poor uncertain brute got into such a state of
nervous fright, her eyes began to roll, she wildly shook her head from
side to side, no longer picked her ground--a badger-hole received her
foot and down she went, and Jo went flying to the earth. Though badly
bruised, he gained his feet and tried to mount his crazy beast. But she,
poor brute, was done for--her off fore-leg hung loose.

There was but one thing to do. Jo loosed the cinch, put Lightfoot out of
pain, and carried back the saddle to the camp. While the Pacer steamed
away till lost to view.

This was not quite defeat, for all the mares were manageable now, and Jo
and Charley drove them carefully to the 'L cross F' corral and claimed a
good reward. But Jo was more than ever bound to own the Stallion. He had
seen what stuff he was made of, he prized him more and more, and only
sought to strike some better plan to catch him.

IV

The cook on that trip was Bates--Mr. Thomas Bates, he called himself at
the post-office where he regularly went for the letters and remittance
which never came. Old Tom Turkeytrack, the boys called him, from
his cattle-brand, which he said was on record at Denver, and which,
according to his story, was also borne by countless beef and saddle
stock on the plains of the unknown North.

When asked to join the trip as a partner, Bates made some sarcastic
remarks about horses not fetching $12 a dozen, which had been literally
true within the year, and he preferred to go on a very meagre salary.
But no one who once saw the Pacer going had failed to catch the craze.
Turkeytrack experienced the usual change of heart. He now wanted to own
that mustang. How this was to be brought about he did not clearly see
till one day there called at the ranch that had 'secured his services,'
as he put it, one, Bill Smith, more usually known as Horseshoe Billy,
from his cattle-brand. While the excellent fresh beef and bread and the
vile coffee, dried peaches and molasses were being consumed, he of the
horseshoe remark