"That grey is fast as a streak--but look! look!" For the red-chestnut was bounding away in pursuit of his last companion with a winged gallop.

It seemed that the wind caught him up and buoyed him from stride to stride, and the cowpunchers with hungry, burning eyes watched without a word until the grey and the chestnut blurred on the horizon and dipped out of view together.

The spell was broken in the same instant by a stream of profanity floating up from the rear.

It was Lew Hervey approaching and swearing his mightiest.
"But I dunno," said Bud Seymour softly.

"I feel kind of glad that Lew missed." He glanced sharply at his companions for fear they might laugh at this childish weakness, but there was no laughter and by their starved eyes he knew that every one of them was riding over the horizon in imagination, on the back of the chestnut..