moreover, he would not be left behind; he was the swiftest horse
on the range, and proud of the distinction. I cast one
unmentionable word on the breeze toward the cabin and Frank, then
put mind and muscle to the sore task of remaining with Spot.
Jones was born on a saddle, and had been taking his meals in a
saddle for about sixty-three years, and the bay horse could run.
Run is not a felicitous word--he flew. And I was rendered
mentally deranged for the moment to see that hundred paces
between the bay and Spot materially lessen at every jump. Spot
lengthened out, seemed to go down near the ground, and cut the
air like a high-geared auto. If I had not heard the fast rhythmic
beat of his hoofs, and had not bounced high into the air at every
jump, I would have been sure I was riding a bird. I tried to stop
him. As well might I have tried to pull in the Lusitania with a
thread. Spot was out to overhaul that bay, and in spite of me, he
was doing it. The wind rushed into my face and sang in my ears.
Jones seemed the nucleus of a sort of haze, and it grew larger
and larger. Presently he became clearly defined in my sight; the
violent commotion under me subsided; I once more felt the saddle,
and then I realized that Spot had been content to stop alongside
of Jones, tossing his head and champing his bit.

"Well, by George! I didn't know you were in the stretch," cried
my companion. "That was a fine little brush. We must have come
several miles. I'd have killed those wolves if I'd brought a gun.
The big one that had the calf was a bold brute. He never let go
until I was within fifty feet of him. Then I almost rode him
down. I don't think the calf was much hurt. But those
blood-thirsty devils will return, and like as not get the calf.
That's the worst of cattle raising. Now, take the buffalo. Do you