it--and I don't talk about it much, for it was the strangest thing that
ever happened to me--but when I looked into that black stallion's eyes,
and he looked me straight in the face, I never felt so sorry for
anything in my life. I was sort of ashamed like--like--well, like I'd
been caught holding up a church, you know, or something like that. We
were all alone up there, just him and me, and while I was getting my
wind, and we were sizing each other up, and I was feeling that way, I
got to thinking what it all meant to him--to be broken and
educated--and--well--civilized, you know; and I thought what a horse he
would be if he was left alone to live as God made him, and so--well--"
He paused again with an embarrassed laugh.

"You let him go?" cried Patches.

"It's God's truth, Patches. I couldn't do anything else--I just
couldn't. One of the boys came up just in time to catch me turning him
loose, and, of course, the whole outfit just naturally raised hell about
it. You see, in a chase like that, we always bunch all we get and sell
them off to the highest bidder, and every man in the outfit shares
alike. The boys figured that the black was worth more than any five
others that were caught, and so you couldn't blame them for feeling
sore. But I fixed it with them by turning all my share into the pot, so
they couldn't kick. That, you see, makes the black belong to me, in a
way, and it's pretty generally understood that I propose to take care of
him. There was a fellow, riding in the rodeo last fall, that took a shot
at him one day, and--well--he left the country right after it happened
and hasn't been seen around here since."

The cowboy grinned as his companion's laugh rang out.