another with flaying quirt; a third with smoking
carbine; a fourth, a large man, smooth and red of
face, riding heavily -- all galloping toward him.

But they did not hold his interest. His heart
and soul lay with the little gray mare, and, turning
to the front again, he saw mare and rider swinging
out of sight around the end of the grove.
Confidently he watched for their appearance
beyond. Presently he saw them sweep into view
again -- moving at a gallop, swinging across a wide
plain that held them cleai to his straining eyes--
saw them grow faint and fainter, small and ever
smaller -- become a hazy speck on the horizon--
finally disappear from view in the engulfing dunes
and vales of the surrounding desert. And now,
weakened as he was, he sounded a forlorn, protracted
nicker of protest.

The rangers pulled up, breathless. They dismounted
stiffly, released the weight from Pat's
stirrup, and carried it off a little ways. He
watched them a moment, noting their ease of movement
and business-like air, and then turned his
gaze to the horses. All were strange to him, and
he looked them over frankly, resting his eyes finally
upon a chunky white. Instinctively he knew
that this horse was mean, and he hated mean
horses as he hated mean men. Observing that
this one showed his teeth freely at him, the while
holding his small ears almost constantly flat, he
measured him for difficulties in the future, if the
association were to continue. Then he turned
his eyes back to the men.

[[208]]

p207 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p208w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p209

v?