When you-all stampedes a
bunch of ponies that a-way they don't hold together like cattle, but
plunges off diffusive. It's every bronco for himse'f, disdainful of
all else, an' when it's sun-up you finds 'em spattered all over the
scene an' not regardin' of each other much.
"But this yere Mexican, after he stampedes 'em, huddles what he can
together--as I says mebby it's a dozen--an' p'ints off into the
hills.
"Of course it ain't no time after the sun shows the tracks when
Enright, Jack Moore, an' myse'f is on the trail. Tutt an' Dan Boggs
wants in on the play, but we can't spar' so many from the round-up.
"It's one of the stolen ponies tips this Greaser's hand. It's the
second day, an' we-alls loses the trail for mebby it's fifteen
minutes. We're smellin' along a canyon to find it ag'in, when from
over a p'int of rocks we hears a bronco nicker. He gets the scent of
an acquaintance which Moore's ridin' on, an' says 'How!' pony-
fashion.
"Thar's no need goin' into wearyin' details. Followin' the nicker we
comes surgin' in on our prey, an' it's over in a minute. Thar's two
Mexicans,--our criminal trackin' up with a pard that mornin'. But of
course we-alls knows he's thar long hours back by the tracks, so it
ain't no s'prise.
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