by Zane Grey
trenchant, the fiery, shrill challenge of a stallion.
Black Bolly reared straight up.
Jack ran to the rise of ground above the camp, and looked over the
cedars. "Oh!" he cried, and beckoned for Mescal. She ran to him, and
Piute, tying Black Bolly, hurried after. "Look! look!" cried Jack. He
pointed to a ridge rising to the left of the yellow crags. On the bare
summit stood a splendid stallion clearly silhouetted against the ruddy
morning sky. He was an iron-gray, wild and proud, with long silver-white
mane waving in the wind.
"Silvermane! Silvermane!" exclaimed Mescal.
"What a magnificent animal!" Jack stared at the splendid picture for the
moment before the horse moved back along the ridge and disappeared.
Other horses, blacks and bays, showed above the sage for a moment, and
they, too, passed out of sight.
"He's got some of his band with him," said Jack, thrilled with
excitement. "Mescal, they're down off the upper range, and grazing along
easy. The wind favors us. That whistle was just plain fight, judging
from what Naab told me of wild stallions. He came to the hilltop, and
whistled down defiance to any horse, wild or tame, that might be below.
I'll slip round through the cedars, and block the trail leading up to
the other range, and you and Piute close the gate of our trail at this
end. Then send Piute down to tell Naab we've got Silvermane."
Jack chose the lowest edge of the plateau rim where the cedars were
thickest for his detour to get behind the wild band; he ran from tree to
tree, avoiding the open places, taking advantage of the thickets,
keeping away from the ridge. He had never gone so far as the gate, but,
knowing where the trail led into a split in the crags, he climbed the
slope, and threaded a way over masses of fallen cliff, until he reached
the base of the wall. The tracks of the wildhorse band were very fresh
and plain in the yellow trail. Four stout posts guarded the opening, and
a number of bars lay ready to be pushed into place. He put them up,
making a gate ten feet high, an impregnable barrier. This done, he
hurried back to camp.
"Jack, Bolly will need more watching to-day than the sheep, unless I let
her loose. Why, she pulls and strains so she'll break that halter."
"She wants to go with the band; isn't that it?"
"I don't like to think so. But Father Naab doesn't trust Bolly, though
she's the best mustang he ever broke."
"Better keep her in," replied Jack, remembering Naab's warning. "I'll
hobble her, so if she does break loose she can't go far."
When Mescal and Jack drove in the sheep that afternoon, rather earlier
than usual, Piute had returned with August Naab, Dave, and Billy, a
string of mustangs and a pack-train of burros.
"Hello, Mescal," cheerily called August, as they came into camp. "Well
Jack--bless me! Why, my lad, how fine and brown--and yes, how you've
filled out!" He crushed Jack's hand in his broad palm, and his gray eyes
beamed. "I've not the gift of revelation--but, Jack, you're going to get
well."
"Yes, I--" He had difficulty with his enunciation, but he thumped his
breast significantly and smiled.
"Black sage and juniper!" exclaimed August. "In this air if a man
doesn't go off quickly with pneumonia, he'll get well. I never had a
doubt for you, Jack--and thank God!"
He questioned Piute and Mescal about the sheep, and was greatly pleased
with their report. He shook his head when Jack spread out the grizzly-
pelt, and asked for the story of the killing. Jack made a poor showing
with the tale and slighted his share in it, but Mescal told it as it
actually happened. And Naab's great hand resounded from Jack's shoulder.
Then, catching sight of the pile of coyote skins under the stone shelf,
he gave vent to his surprise and delight. Then he came back to the
object of his trip upon the plateau.
"So you've corralled Silvermane? Well, Jack, if he doesn't jump over the
cliff he's ours. He can't get off any other way. How many horses with
him?"
"We had no chance to count. I saw at least twelve."
"Good! He's out with his picked band. Weren't they all blacks and bays?"
"Yes."
"Jack, the history of that stallion wouldn't make you proud of him.
We've corralled him by a lucky chance. If I don't miss my guess he's
after Bolly. He has been a lot of trouble to ranchers all the way from
the Nevada line across Utah. The stallions he's killed, the mares he's
led off! Well, Dave, shall we thirst him out, or line up a long corral?"
"Better have a look around to-morrow," replied Dave. "It'll take a lot
of chasing to run him down, but there's not a spring on the bench where
we can throw up a trap-corral. We'll have to chase him."
"Mescal, has Bolly been good since Silvermane came down?"
"No, she hasn't," declared Mescal, and told of the circumstance.
"Bolly's all right," said Billy Naab. "Any mustang will do that. Keep
her belled and hobbled."
"Silvermane would care a lot about that, if he wanted Bolly, wouldn't
he?" queried Dave in quiet scorn. "Keep her roped and haltered, I say."
"Dave's right," said August. "You can't trust a wild mustang any more
than a wild horse."
August was right. Black Bolly broke her halter about midnight and
escaped into the forest, hobbled as she was. The Indian heard her first,
and he awoke August, who aroused the others.
"Don't make any noise," he said, as Jack came up, throwing on his coat.
"There's likely to be some fun here presently. Bolly's loose, broke her
rope, and I think Silvermane is close. Listen sharp now."
The slight breeze favored them, the camp-fire was dead, and the night
was clear and starlit. They had not been quiet many moments when the
shrill neigh of a mustang rang out. The Naabs raised themselves and
looked at one another in the starlight.
"Now what do you think of that?" whispered Billy.
"No more than I expected. It was Bolly," replied Dave.
"Bolly it was, confound her black hide!" added August. "Now, boys, did
she whistle for Silvermane, or to warn him, which?"
"No telling," answered Billy. "Let's lie low, and take a chance on him
coming close. It proves one thing--you can't break a wild mare. That
spirit may sleep in her blood, maybe for years, but some time it'll
answer to--"
"Shut up--listen," interrupted Dave.
Jack strained his hearing, yet caught no sound, except the distant yelp
of a coyote. Moments went by.
"There!" whispered Dave.
From the direction of the ridge came the faint rattling of stones.
"They're coming," put in Billy.
Presently sharp clicks preceded the rattles, and the sounds began to
merge into a regular rhythmic tramp. It softened at intervals, probably
when the horses were under the cedars, and strengthened as they came out
on the harder ground of the open.
"I see them," whispered Dave.
A black, undulating line wound out of the cedars, a line of horses
approaching with drooping heads, hurrying a little as they neared the
spring.
"Twenty-odd, all blacks and bays," said August, "and some of them are
mustangs. But where's Silvermane?--hark!"
Out among the cedars rose the peculiar halting thump of a hobbled horse
trying to cover ground, followed by snorts and crashings of brush and
the pound of plunging hoofs. The long black line stopped short and began
to stamp. Then into the starlit glade below moved two shadows, the first
a great gray horse with snowy
