The wide hollow sloping up into the foothills lay open to
unobstructed view, and less than half a mile distant Madeline saw
the riderless horse coming along the white trail at a rapid
canter. She watched him, recalling the circumstances under which
she had first seen him, and then his wild flight through the
dimly lighted streets of El Cajon out into the black night. She
thrilled again and believed she would never think of that starry
night's adventure without a thrill. She watched the horse and
felt more than curiosity. A shrill, piercing whistle pealed in.

"Wal, he's seen us, thet's sure," said Bill.

The horse neared the corrals, disappeared into a lane, and then,
breaking his gait again, thundered into the inclosure and pounded
to a halt some twenty yards from where Stillwell waited for him.

One look at him at close range in the clear light of day was
enough for Madeline to award him a blue ribbon over all horses,
even her prize-winner, White Stockings. The cowboy's great steed
was no lithe, slender-bodied mustang. He was a charger, almost
tremendous of build, with a black coat faintly mottled in gray,
and it shone like polished glass in the sun. Evidently he had
been carefully dressed down for this occasion, for there was no
dust on him, nor a kink in his beautiful mane, nor a mark on his
glossy hide.

"Come hyar, you son-of-a-gun," said Stillwell.

The horse dropped his head, snorted, and came obediently up. He
was neither shy nor wild. He poked a friendly nose at Stillwell,