joyously and put his pony to a lope. Stride for stride Chance ran
beside him. The cowboy, swaying easily, turned and looked down upon
the dog. Chance was enjoying himself. "Wonder how fast the cuss _can_
run?" And Fadeaway swung his quirt. The stride quickened to the
rhythmic beat of the cow-horse at top speed. The dog kept abreast
without apparent effort. A half-mile beyond the ford the pace
slackened as the pony took the hill across which the trail led to the
open mesas. As they topped the rise Fadeaway again urged his cayuse to
a run, for the puncher had enjoyed the hospitality of his companions of
"The Blue," a distant cattle ranch, a day longer than had been set for
his return to the Concho. Just then a startled jack rabbit leaped up
and bounced down the trail ahead of them. Fadeaway jerked his horse to
a stop. "Now we'll see some real speed!" he said. There was a flash
of the dog's long body, which grew smaller and smaller in the distance;
then a puff of dust spurted up. Fadeaway saw the dog turn end over
end, regain his feet and toss something in the air.

"The fastest dog in Arizona," remarked the cowboy. "And you, you
glass-eyed son of a mistake, you're about as fast as a fence-post!"
This to his patient and willing pony, that again swung into a run and
ran steadily despite his fatigue, for he feared the instant slash of
the quirt should he slacken pace.

Round a bend in the trail, where an arm of the distant forest ran out
into the mesa. Fadeaway again set his horse up viciously. Chance
stopped and looked up at the rider. The cowboy pointed through the
thin rim of timber beyond which a herd of sheep was grazing. "Take
'em!" he whispered. Chance hesitated, not because he was unfamiliar
with sheep, but because he had been punished for chasing and worrying
them. "Go to it! Take 'em, Chance!"