Tex followed the trail of the mares until almost dark. He came up with them several times and sent them galloping into the lower valleys. He did not shoot any of them because he wished to leave them as an attraction for the black stallion. With less than half an hour of daylight left he headed over a ridge to one of the high-country cabins where food and horse feed were always kept ready for wandering cowpunchers and for the boys who rode the high range during the summer.

As he slid from his saddle he saw that someone else was using the cabin for the night. Yellow light streamed out of its one dusty window and the smell of frying bacon and boiling coffee floated down to the corral. Tex unsaddled the bay, watered and grained him, then rubbed him down. He always cared for his horse before thinking of his own comfort.

As he shoved open the cabin door he saw Major Howard and Shorty sitting at the plank table nailed to the wall under the window. They were just finishing a meal of hot biscuit, sugar syrup, bacon, and coffee which Shorty had fixed.

“Hello,” Tex greeted them. “Any grub left?”

Shorty grinned widely and the major nodded. Shorty shoved aside the packing box he had been sitting on.

“I’ll scorch some bacon and warm up the coffee,” he said. “I overestimated the boss’s appetite for biscuits, so there’s plenty.”

“Shorty made enough biscuits for six men,” the major said.

Tex eased his lank frame down on the packing box. He was ravenously hungry. Reaching for a biscuit he broke it, exposing its snowy center. The major watched him as he crammed half the biscuit into his mouth.

“I have been down to the meadow where you trapped those wild horses. You did a nice job, Tex.”

Tex grunted as he shoved the other half of the biscuit into his mouth.

The major added by way of defending himself against killing the mares:

“Not a single head worth rounding up.”

“I reckon not,” Tex agreed. Then he leaned forward and spoke with considered slowness: “The stud got away and he’s a winner. He outran my bay on level ground in a straightaway run.”

The major showed his interest at once. He had always wanted to capture a real wild stallion that had quality. He had an idea he could do some crossbreeding that might have interesting results.

“Stallion?” he asked.

“A black stud, long two-year-old. Fine racin’ legs, big chest, and the heart of a winner. He turned on me and come near knockin’ me out of my saddle.” Tex grinned as he remembered that charge.

The major smiled too, an eager smile. “He must have spirit. Racing legs and body—h-mmm.” He picked up a biscuit absently and crumbled the corner of it. Then he shot a penetrating glance at Tex and asked, “And you think you know his sire and dam?”

“That colt is out of Lady Ebony by the chestnut stud that led the wild band. The chestnut is the thief that stole your mare, major. The chestnut is gone, can’t figure exactly how he got killed, but I’m sure he’s dead. The black colt couldn’t handle him, not yet. But the black was running the band and he got the job too young.” Tex reached for another biscuit. “I reckon he’s learning fast, though.”

Major Howard got out his pipe. He loaded it carefully, then lighted it. He was watching Tex narrowly. For a full minute he puffed deeply, the blue-white smoke curling up around his graying hair. When he spoke his voice lacked the assurance it usually carried.

“You never give up once you get an idea, do you, Tex?”

“It’s as clear as day to me,” Tex said simply.

“This long two-year-old can outrun anything on my ranch.” The major spoke almost to himself.

“And rest while he’s doing it,” Tex said.

“You better bring him in. He may not be so good as he looked today, but if he has the markings of that black mare I’ll know it. I’d like to experiment with a stallion like that.”

“I figure on bringing him in if it takes all summer.” Tex leaned forward. The bacon Shorty had set before him went unnoticed. “If you figure I’m right you could do something for Sam?” Tex knew he was treading on dangerous ground. Mention of Sam always irritated the major.

“When I’m convinced, I’ll do what I can,” he said gruffly.

Tex knew there was no use talking any more about it. He would round up the black and bring him in. Once the major set eyes on the stallion he would know the black was Lady Ebony’s son. Then the major would get Sam out of his cell. Tex had the major figured that way.

With supper over the men rolled up in their blankets. The major slept in the wall bunk while Tex and Shorty bedded down on the floor. They did not stay up longer than the time it took to wash the dishes and split some wood for the breakfast fire. They would all be up and in the saddle by daylight the next morning. Tex meant to ride the upper range and to map out his campaign. He had a feeling there was need for haste. The black stallion would have to be brought in that summer. Sam had to be got back to his high mesa if he was to come at all.

The next morning Tex was up before the other two men had wakened. He made coffee in the blackened pot and finished up what had been left of Shorty’s biscuits. With a can of tomatoes, a tin of fish and some coffee from the cupboard he left the cabin.

The rising sun found him on a high ridge overlooking the sweep of the lower slopes of the Crazy Kills. He studied the meadows below, watching the timbered edges of the clearings, but he saw no sign of the black stallion. After that he set about checking the meadows, following the trails from valley to valley. About noon he came on two of the wild mares. He did not alarm them and they did not know he had seen them. Later he came on three more in a meadow far from where he had located the first two. At four that afternoon he found two others feeding beside a stream miles from the others. And he had come across no sign of the black stallion, not even his tracks. He began to wonder what had happened to the colt. And he was beginning to wonder if the band had not separated for good. The mares he had come on had been feeding or lying down. They had not seemed to be looking for the others. Tex refused to be worried, but he rode until darkness forced a halt. He built a little fire to heat water for coffee. He had eaten the tinned fish and tomatoes at noon. But he was determined to camp where he was and go on with the search in the morning.

The next day Tex rode until evening without coming on the black or crossing his trail. He was convinced now that the stallion was making no effort to round up the mares, that he was too young and inexperienced to have developed band leadership. He knew he faced a tough job but he had no idea of quitting. He would need a pack horse and supplies to stay in the hills more than two days. That meant he would have to return to the home ranch.

He rode back to the high-line cabin and cooked a meal. There was no one at the cabin and he rolled up on the bunk as soon as he had eaten. The next day he headed for the home ranch.

The major did not object when Tex told him his plans. But Tex knew that a week would probably be all he would be allowed for the hunt. The major would be calling him in to take charge of other work. He was convinced his boss was giving him this time so that he would have a chance to settle the matter that had been between them since Sam was taken away.

Tex rode into the high country. He laid his plans carefully. He meant to cover the range from timber line down in a careful check of all meadows and feed grounds. He was sure he would miss no spot where a wild horse would stay because he had ridden the Crazy Kill slopes for fifteen years and knew every foot of the ground.

Methodically he worked, from the north limits toward the south. He accounted for all the wild horses except Midnight and the pinto filly. At the end of the week he was worried. The black stallion must have gone down into the desert or over the divide into the wild country beyond Major Howard’s range. He had to admit he had failed in a job that seemed to him important. He knew there was no use trying to make a ride into the desert. That vast expanse of sand and canyons stretched clear to the Mexican border, while the wild country beyond the Crazy Kills was worse than the desert. It was canyon-slotted and grown dense with timber. No ranchers used it as a range. It was virgin wilderness and it was a hundred miles deep.

When Major Howard ordered Tex to take charge of the drive that would bring the new herds of cattle to the high country from the railroad yards he did not object. He had had his chance and had failed.

At the foot of the high walls overlooking Shadow Canyon, Midnight and the pinto stayed hidden in the aspen grove by day. At night they either fed in the little meadow or climbed up to the high mesa. When they were on the high mesa they raced and played. They never stayed after dawn broke. Twice they scented man smell on the wind and dashed to cover along the ledge trail.

The day Tex checked the high mesa for tracks or signs they were feeding below and had not been on top for several days. Rain had come and their tracks had been washed out. He had passed on after looking inside Sam’s cabin and noting how it was falling apart from disuse.

The pinto pony trusted Midnight and he had his past experience to make him feel secure in his hideout. But he did not forget the lessons he had learned, and no buck deer was more alert and watchful than he.

Many times Midnight led the pinto around the track he had laid out. They often ran by daylight, around and around, leaping over logs and rocks and pounding in a reckless chase over the rough trail. Midnight could easily outdistance the filly, but he never ran away from her when she dropped behind.

As the days passed, both horses became sleek and fat, but Midnight did not lose his speed or power. He never became lazy, because of the nervous, high spirits which filled him. He was fast coming to the place where he would not be satisfied with the company of one filly, but another season would pass before he was ready to go forth.

In a town below the ridges and wild barrens, behind drab, gray walls old Sam had at last given up the fight. One morning he did not answer early call and they found him lying on his cot peacefully sleeping. He would not stir and seemed not to have the wiry strength that had carried him along. The warden and the doctor came. Sam was taken to the hospital and placed on a white bed. Outside the door of his room the doctor faced the warden.

“The state will not be burdened over a couple of months longer by that old codger,” he said.

“What ails him?” the warden asked.

“What would ail any wild thing that was cooped up in one of your cells?” the doctor asked, then turned abruptly away.

The warden went back to his office and looked into Sam’s file. No one had taken any interest in the case except Tex and he had written only one letter because writing was something he seldom did. The warden put the file away and made a note of what the doctor had said.