"But even wild things are captured," she argued. "Even deer are caught.
If the chestnut _did_ run off the mares again why couldn't--"
Hervey interrupted dryly: "Down Concord way, Jess Rankin was pestered by
a black mustang. Jess was a pretty tolerable fair hunter, knowed
mustangs and mustang-ways, and had a right fine string of saddle hosses.
Well, it took Jess four years of hard work to get the black. Up by
Mexico Creek, Bud Wilkinson had a grey stallion that run amuck on his
range. Took Bud nigh onto five years to get the grey. Well, I seen both
the grey and the black, and I helped run 'em a couple of times. Well,
Miss Jordan, when it come to running, neither of 'em was one-two-three
beside this chestnut, and if it took five years to get in rifle range of
'em for a good shot, it'll take ten to get the chestnut. That's the way
I figure!"
And as he ended, his companions nodded soberly.
"Plumb streak of light," they said. "Just nacheral crazy fool when it
comes to running, that hoss is!"
And Marianne, for the first time truly appreciating how great was the
danger from which the mares had been saved, sighed as she looked them
over again, one by one.
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