"I guess hardly another man on the range could have trailed them so
well," she said gratefully. "But this wild horse--do you really think
he'll try to steal our mares again?"

"Think? I know! And the next time we won't get 'em back so plumb easy.
Right this morning, if they'd got started quick enough when he give 'em
the signal, we'd never of headed 'em. But they ain't turned wild yet;
they ain't used to his ways. Give him another whirl with them and
they'll belong to him for good. Ain't no hosses around these parts can
run them mares down!"

She heard the tribute with a smile of pleasure and ran satisfied glances
over the six beauties which cantered or trotted before them.

"But even wild things are captured," she argued. "Even deer are caught.
If the chestnut _did_ run off the mares again why couldn't--"

Hervey interrupted dryly: "Down Concord way, Jess Rankin was pestered by
a black mustang. Jess was a pretty tolerable fair hunter, knowed
mustangs and mustang-ways, and had a right fine string of saddle hosses.
Well, it took Jess four years of hard work to get the black. Up by
Mexico Creek, Bud Wilkinson had a grey stallion that run amuck on his
range. Took Bud nigh onto five years to get the grey. Well, I seen both
the grey and the black, and I helped run 'em a couple of times. Well,
Miss Jordan, when it come to running, neither of 'em was one-two-three
beside this chestnut, and if it took five years to get in rifle range of
'em for a good shot, it'll take ten to get the chestnut. That's the way
I figure!"