"Lost your job, ain't you?" he said. "Care to come to me? I'm Mat
Woodburn."

Monkey grinned.

"I know you, sir," he said. "Yes, sir. Thank you. I'm there."

Thus began that curious partnership between the two men which had
endured twenty-five years.

Always master and man, the two had been singularly intimate from the
start, and increasingly so. Both had that elemental quality, somewhat
remote from civilization and its standards, which you find amongst those
who consort greatly with horses and cattle. Both were simple and
astonishingly shrewd. They loved a horse and understood him as did few:
they loved a rogue and were the match for most.

Both had a wide knowledge of human nature, especially on its seamy side,
based on a profound experience of life.

Monkey Brand had never been quite in the front rank of cross-country
riders. At no time had he emerged from the position of head-lad, nor
apparently had he wished to do so. It may be that he lacked ambition, or
was aware of his limitations. For his critics said that, consummate
horseman though he was, he lacked the strength to hold his own
consistently in the first flight. Moreover, just at the one period of
his career when it had seemed to the knowing that he might soar, the
brilliant Chukkers, then but a lad, had crossed the Atlantic in the
train of Ikey Aaronsohnn--to aid the cosmopolitan banker to achieve the