"I disremember the rest," replied the other. "Let's see!" He was silent. "No," he finally blurted out, "I can't get it. It says something about overloading, and a-hitching where water don't drop on him, and--Oh yes! 'I can't tell you when I'm thirsty,' it goes on, 'so give me cool, clean water often. Never put a frosty bit in my mouth; first warm it by holdin' it a moment in your hands. And, remember, I try to carry you and your burdens without a murmur, and I wait patiently for you long hours of the day and night. Without power to choose my shoes or path, I sometimes stumble and fall, but I stand always in readiness at any moment to lose my life in your service. And this is important, and, finally, O my master! when my useful strength is gone do not turn me out to starve, or sell me to some cruel owner to be slowly tortured and starved to death; but do thou, my master, take my life in the kindest way, and your God will reward you here and hereafter. You will not consider me irreverent, I know, if I ask all this in the name of Him Who was born in a stable.'" The Professor's blanket stirred again. "Go on," he demanded in muffled tones. "Is that all?" The lean man slipped off his second boot. "No," he replied, quietly, "that ain't all." "Well, go ahead. It's good. That horse must 'a' been a city horse; but go on!" "Only one more word, anyway," was the rejoinder. He was still holding his boot. "What is it?" "Why"--the voice was solemn--"it's 'Amen.'" "Aw, shucks!" came from the depths of the blanket. The lean man turned his head. "Say, you!" he rasped, belligerently. "What?" For answer the boot sailed across the camp. The Professor popped his head out of the blanket, drew it back suddenly, popped it out again, all strongly suggestive of a turtle. There was a hoarse laugh, then silence, but none of those men forgot the Prayer of the Horse. CHAPTER XIX ANOTHER CHANGE OF MASTERS The next morning Pat had a change from the tedium of the desert. With the others he struck into a narrow canyon that led out to a beaten trail upon a rolling mesa. The trail wound diagonally across the mesa from the south and lost itself in snake-like twistings among hills to the north. Guided to the right into this trail, Pat found himself, a little before noon, in a tiny Mexican settlement. It was a squat hamlet, nestling comfortably among the hills, made up of a few adobes, a lone well, and a general store. The store was at the far end, and toward this his young master directed him.