“You boys ride on down to the ranch and report to the boss. Tell him I’m staying on the trail of the ones that got away. I’ll be in late tonight.” Shorty grinned. “Figure you might be lucky enough to dab a rope on that black?” he asked. “I’d trade every horse in my string but the bay for him,” Tex admitted. Shorty laughed. He had missed the real significance of the remark. He thought Tex wanted the black as a saddler. Tex was a nut when it came to saddle stock. He remarked in an amused voice: “It’ll be a case of sneaking and trailing from now on, and when you do dab a rope on him you’d best have some help handy. That baby bites and kicks like a cougar.” Tex nodded full agreement as he rode away from the men. He took the regular trail off the mesa and rode around to the foot of the cliff. He had no desire to send the bay down over the trail the black had made for the mares. At the bottom of the cliff he picked up the trail and followed it. He did not have to dismount to tell the tracks of the stallion and those of the mares. The tracks of the leader were clean and deep, with perfect alignment. The trail led up the mountain in an almost straight line and the horses did not halt until they reached the barrens high under the rims of the Crazy Kill peaks. As he rode along Tex planned his course of action. He would ambush the black and drop a rope on him. Taking him now would be possible, Tex figured, because the black was still a colt and could be handled if properly worked. If he stayed in the wild another year he might develop into a horse that could never be broken. He was just learning the tricks of leadership; that was shown by the trap the mares had walked into. Tex grinned eagerly as he planned. He was sure he could convince the major, once he looked at the midnight black, that his theory about Lady Ebony was correct. He was also sure that, once convinced that Sam had not stolen the mare, the major would get the old man out of the pen quickly. Major Howard was an influential man and a determined one when he set out to do anything. He was a shrewd judge of blooded horses, and that would help. Tex was eager to capture the black at once. He had a feeling that if Sam was ever to come back to his high mesa he would have to be set free that summer. He had talked to the warden and to the doctor at the prison and both agreed with him. It was Tex’s way never to consider failure. The bay he rode was the fastest horse on the range and Tex had accumulated some money and a great many possessions betting on his speed. He was at his best in rough country where sure-footed accuracy counted for more than speed, and he was powerful enough to handle the black once Tex roped him. The bay could lay a five-year-old maverick on his side without budging when the bulk of the critter hit the rope.