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Within a mile of Silver Cup Spring Hare dismounted, to tie folded pads of buckskin on Bolly's hoofs. When her feet were muffled, he cautiously advanced on the trail for the matter of a hundred rods or more; then sheered off to the right into the cedars. He led Bolly slowly, without rattling a stone or snapping a twig, and stopped every few paces to listen.
Silvermane pranced and snorted his gladness at sight of his master. The desert king was fit for a grueling race. Black Bolly quietly cropped the long grass. Hare saddled the stallion to have him in instant readiness, and then returned to the front of the yard. He heard the sound of a gun down the road, then another, and several shots following in quick succession.
He rested a few moments, gave Bolly sparingly of grain and water, and once more took to the trail. From the ridge below the spring he saw Silvermane beyond the valley, miles ahead of him. This day seemed shorter than the foregoing one; it passed while he watched Silvermane grow smaller and smaller and disappear on the looming slope of Coconina.
Twice the workers saw Silvermane standing on open high ridges, restive and suspicious, with his silver mane flying, and his head turned over his shoulder, watching, always watching. "It'd be worth something to find out how long that stallion could go without water," commented Dave. "But we'll make his tongue hang out to-morrow. It'd serve him right to break him with Black Bolly."
It was near sundown when he rode Black Bolly into White Sage, and took the back road, and the pasture lane to Bishop Caldwell's cottage. John, one of the Bishop's sons, was in the barn-yard and ran to open the gate. "Mescal!" cried Hare. "Safe," replied the Mormon. "Have you hidden her?" "She's in a secret cave, a Mormon hiding-place for women. Only a few men know of its existence.
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.
The darkness of the forest hindered him, but he came at length to the edge of the aspen thicket; he penetrated it, and guided toward Bolly by a suspicious stamp and neigh, he found her and quieted her with a word. He rode down the hollow, out upon the level valley. The clouds had broken somewhat, letting pale light down through rifts. All about him cattle were lying in a thick gloom.
It was not unusual for the mustangs to get restless at any time, and Hare was confident that this would pass without investigation. Gradually the restless stampings and suspicious snortings ceased, and Hare, letting down the bars, led Bolly out into the lane.
"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 "
He wondered if he would come to rest in that quiet nook, with its steady light, its simple dignity of bare plain graves fitting the brevity of life, the littleness of man. "We break wild mustangs along this stretch," said Naab, drawing Hare away. "It's a fine run. Wait till you see Mescal on Black Bolly tearing up the dust! She's a Navajo for riding."
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