"Bay Denver's broke out uh the little pasture," announced the Old Man,
putting his head in at the door of the blacksmith shop where Chip was
hammering gayly upon a bent branding iron, for want of a better way to
kill time and give vent to his surplus energy. "I wish you'd saddle up
an' go after him, Chip, if yuh can. I just seen him takin' down the
coulee trail like a scared coyote."

"Sure, I'll go. Darn that old villain, he'd jump a fence forty feet
high if he took a notion that way." Chip threw down the hammer and
reached for his coat.

"I guess the fence must be down som'ers. I'll go take a look. Say!
Dell ain't come back from Denson's yit. Yuh want t' watch out Denver
don't meet her--he'd scare the liver out uh her."

Chip was well aware that the Little Doctor had not returned from
Denson's, where she had been summoned to attend one of the children,
who had run a rusty nail into her foot. She had gone alone, for Dr.
Cecil was learning to make bread, and had refused to budge from the
kitchen till her first batch was safely baked.

Chip limped hurriedly to the corral, and two minutes later was clattering
down the coulee upon Blazes, after the runaway.

Denver was a beautiful bay stallion, the pride and terror of the ranch.
He was noted for his speed and his vindictive hatred of the more plebeian
horses, scarcely one of which but had, at some time, felt his teeth in
their flesh--and he was hated and feared by them all.