and uninteresting as the dust itself. Then he lowered the hand from
beneath which he had peered and faced about with a sigh. "I guess it
ain't much good trying that way. But I got to get to Stillwater inside
of three hours."

"They's one hoss in town can get you there," said the old man. "But
you can't get that hoss today."

The stranger groaned. "Then I'll make another hoss stretch out and
do."

"Can't be done. Doone's hoss is a marvel. Nothing else about here can
touch him, and he's the only one that can make the trip around the
mountain, inside of three hours. You'd kill another hoss trying to do
it, what with your weight."

The stranger groaned again and struck his knuckles against his
forehead. "But why can't I get the hoss? Is Doone out of town with
it?"

"The hoss ain't out of town, but Doone is."

The traveler clenched his fists. This delay and waste of priceless
time was maddening him. "Gents," he called desperately, "I got to
get to Martindale today. It's more than life or death to me. Where's
Doone's hoss?"

"Right across the road," said the old man who had spoken first. "Over
yonder in the corral--the bay."