That, in fact, was what he was doing. The steady murmur of the voice of Hunter reached him as the big man soothed the horse. He saw the head of Diablo turn, saw him sniff the shoulder of his companion, and then Hunter lifted himself slowly into the saddle. There was a groan of excitement from the spectators, and at the sound rather than at the weight of his back, Diablo crouched. It was only for a moment that he quivered, wild-eyed, irresolute. Then he straightened and threw up his head. Bull Hunter, his face white and drawn but his mouth resolute, had touched the shining flank of the stallion, and Diablo moved into a soft trot, gentle as the flowing of water. Before him the circle split and rolled back. He glided through, guided by a hand that touched lightly on his neck, and in an utter silence he was seen to turn the corner of the nearest shed and approach the corral. Hal Dunbar, rubbing his eyes, was the first to speak. "A trick horse!" he said. "By the Lord, a trick horse!" "The first time I ever seen him play that trick," gasped old Bridewell, his eyes huge and round, "except when Tod was up on him. I dunno what's happened. It's like a dream. But there's a saddle on him now, and that was something even Tod could never make him stand. I dunno what's happened!" The little crowd broke up into chattering groups. Here had been a thing that would bear telling and retelling for many a year. In the confusion Dunbar's man, Riley, approached his employer. Both gratitude and shame were forgotten by Dunbar now. He gripped the shoulder of this man and groaned, "I've lost him, Riley! The only horse ever foaled that could have carried me the way a man should be carried. Now I'll have to ride plow horses the rest of my life!" He pointed to the cloddish, heavy-limbed gray which he had ridden in his quest for the superhorse at the Bridewell place. "I been thinking," said Riley. "I been thinking a pile the last few minutes." "What you been thinking about? What good does thinking do me? I've lost the horse, haven't I, and that half-wit has him?" "He has him--now," suggested Riley, watching the face of the big man for fear that he might go too far. "You mean by that?" queried the master. "Exactly," said Riley. "Because he has the black now, it doesn't mean that he's going to have him forever, does it?" "Riley, you're a devil. That fellow saved my life, they tell me." "I don't mean you're going to bump him off. But suppose you get him to come and work on your place? There might be ways of getting the hoss--buying him or something. Get him there, and we'll find a way. Besides, he can teach you how to handle the hoss before you get him. I say it's all turned out for the best." Dunbar frowned. "Take him with me? And every place I go I hear it said, 'There's the man who rode the horse that threw Dunbar!' No, curse him, I'll see him in Hades before I take him with me!" "How else are you going to get the hoss? Tell me that?"