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"Boys, you'd better drive them in," said Bostil. "They'd like nothin' so well
as gettin' out on the sage. . . . Hullo! what's thet shootin' up behind the
ridge?"
"No more 'n Buckles with Lucy makin' him run some," replied Holley, with a
dry laugh.
"If it ain't! . . . Lord! look at him come!"
Bostil's anger and anxiety might never have been. The light of the upland
rider's joy shone in his keen gaze. The slope before him was open, and almost
level, down to the ridge that had hidden the missing girl and horse. Buckles
was running for the love of running, as the girl low down over his neck was
riding for the love of riding. The Sage King whistled again, and shot off with
graceful sweep to meet them; Sarchedon plunged after him; Two Face and Plume
jealously trooped down, too, but Dusty Ben, after a toss of his head, went on
grazing. The gray and the black met Buckles and could not turn in time to stay
with him. A girl's gay scream pealed up the slope, and Buckles went lower and
faster. Sarchedon was left behind.


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