Hervey himself began hinting, as they rode on, that he would like "to clap a saddle on that Lady Mary hoss, one of these days." In truth, her purchase was vindicated completely and Marianne fell into a happy dream of a ranch stocked with saddle horses all drawn from the blood of these neat-footed mares.

With such horses to offer, she could pick and cull among the best "punchers" in the West.
Into the dream, appropriately enough, ran the neigh of a horse, long drawn and shrill of pitch, interrupted by a sudden burst of deep-throated curses from the riders.

The six mares had come to a halt with their beautiful heads raised to listen, and on a far-off hill, Mary saw the signaler--a chestnut horse gleaming red in the morning light.
"It's him!" shouted Hervey.

"The nervy devil has come back to give us a look.

Shorty, take a crack at him!" For that matter, every man in the party was whipping his rifle out of its holster as Mary raised her field glass hurriedly to study the stranger.