Phil stopped, and Patches could see him watching, as the wild horses,
with streaming manes and tails, following their leader, who seemed to
run with less than half his strength, swept away across the rolling
hillsides, growing smaller and smaller in the distance, until, as dark,
swiftly moving dots, they vanished over the sky line.
"Wasn't that great?" cried Phil, when he had loped back to his
companion. "Did you see him go by the bunch like they were standing
still?"
"There didn't seem to be much show for you to catch him," said Patches.
"Catch him!" exclaimed Phil. "Did you think I was trying to catch him? I
just wanted to see him go. The horse doesn't live that could put a man
within roping distance of any one in that bunch on a straightaway run,
and the black can run circles around the whole outfit. I had him once,
though."
"You caught that black!" exclaimed Patches--incredulously.
Phil grinned. "I sure had him for a little while."
"But what is he doing out here running loose, then?" demanded the other.
"Got away, did he?"
"Got away, nothing. Fact is, he belongs to me right now, in a way, and I
wouldn't swap him for any string of cow-horses that I ever saw.
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