Lady Ebony picked the sugar from between his thumb and finger with a dainty movement of her lips. She crunched the lump eagerly, and when it was gone she pricked her ears forward and pawed. Sam grinned widely. “Dang me, if you can’t count,” he said. The other lump of sugar was extended and Lady Ebony took it. Sam let the forelegs of the chair down and got to his feet stiffly. He patted the glistening neck of the mare and talked softly to her. Lady Ebony accepted the caresses. Sam sat down again and the mare nosed around the cabin door a while before trotting out into the meadow where she set to feeding on the tall grass. The yellowbelly on the lookout perch paid no attention to the mare. The calico chips and the chipmunks went on chasing bugs and hunting seeds. They knew the black mare was a friend and that her enemies were their enemies, the cougar and the gray wolf. Sam sucked on his pipe. His eyes followed Lady Ebony. Ever since she was a wobbly colt she had summered in this high pasture. She carried the brand of Major Howard, an Easterner who had come west to raise cattle and horses. He had many horses on the range and paid little attention to any but his purebreds which he kept at the ranch in the valley. But Sam knew a fine horse. He had owned many slim, tough saddlers like the black mare. He was too old and stiff to ride but he wanted to own the black mare, just to have her as a pal. He had babied her and petted her until she was devoted to him. Sam looked into the cold bowl of his pipe. He wanted to smoke, but his tobacco was inside the cabin. It was a terrible nuisance the way he forgot things like that. His eyes shifted to the fat sentinel on the rock. The yellowbelly was sitting up very straight. Suddenly he shook himself and whistled shrilly. Instantly the calico chips, the rockchips, and the chipmunks vanished into the grass. The feeding whistlers romped to their holes at the base of the biggest castle rock. “Tarnation!” Sam muttered angrily. He reached back inside his door, and dragged out an ancient single-barreled shotgun. Laying the gun across his knees he squinted up into the sky. “Thet durn hawk’s been askin’ fer it,” he muttered. But the danger signal did not herald an air raid. Sam heard the thudding of ironshod hoofs. He did not bother to turn around. A horseman galloped up to his door and halted. The rider bent down and greeted Sam. “Morning, Sam.” “Mornin’, major,” Sam answered. A slow grin parted his straggling beard. Major Howard’s gray eyes roved over the meadow, and came to rest on the black mare. The major was an energetic, hot-tempered person who rode hard and drove hard bargains. The easy way of the western mountain people irritated him. He respected Sam’s squatter rights to the mesa and the old cabin because he had more grass than he needed.