"But what is he doing out here running loose, then?" demanded the other.
"Got away, did he?"

"Got away, nothing. Fact is, he belongs to me right now, in a way, and I
wouldn't swap him for any string of cow-horses that I ever saw."

Then, as they rode toward the home ranch, Phil told the story that is
known throughout all that country.

"It was when the black was a yearling," he said. "I'd had my eye on him
all the year, and so had some of the other boys who had sighted the
band, for you could see, even when he was a colt, what he was going to
be. The wild horses were getting rather too numerous that season, and we
planned a chase to thin them out a little, as we do every two or three
years. Of course, everybody was after the black; and one day, along
toward the end of the chase, when the different bands had been broken up
and scattered pretty much, I ran onto him. I was trailing an old gray up
that draw--the way we went to-day, you know, and all at once I met him
as he was coming over the top of the hill, right where you and I rode
onto him. It was all so sudden that for a minute he was rattled as bad
as I was; and, believe me, I was shaking like a leaf. I managed to come
to, first, though, and hung my rope on him before he could get started.
I don't know to this day where the old gray that I was after went. Well,
sir; he fought like a devil, and for a spell we had it around and around
until I wasn't dead sure whether I had him or he had me. But he was only
a yearling then, you see, and I finally got him down."

Phil paused, a peculiar expression on his face. Patches waited silently.

"Do you know," said the cowboy, at last, hesitatingly, "I can't explain