They paid a short visit to the gambling hall after dinner, and then got
their horses. Pollard was struck dumb with admiration at the sight of the
blood-bay.

"Maybe you been up the Bear Creek way?" he asked Terry.

And when the latter admitted that he knew something of the Blue Mountain
country, the rancher exclaimed: "By the Lord, partner, I'd say that hoss
is a ringer for El Sangre."

"Pretty close to a ringer," said Terry. "This is El Sangre himself."

They were jogging out of town. The rancher turned in the saddle and
crossed his companion with one of his searching glances, but returned no
reply. Presently, however, he sent his own capable Steeldust into a sharp
gallop; El Sangre roused to a flowing pace and held the other even
without the slightest difficulty. At this Pollard drew rein with an
exclamation.

"El Sangre as sure as I live!" he declared. "Ain't nothing else in these
parts that calls itself a hoss and slides over the ground the way El
Sangre does. Partner, what sort of a price would you set on El Sangre,
maybe?"

"His weight in gold," said Terry.

The rancher cursed softly, without seeming altogether pleased. And
thereafter during the ride his glance continually drifted toward the
brilliant bay--brilliant even in the pallor of the clear mountain
starlight.