But the ponies wasn't wanting to get away near as much as might of been thought. It was only that Smoky had got spooked up at the sudden sight of the rider, and him and all the others feeling good as they did wasn't needing much excuse. The cowboy fogged down on 'em and a little to one side so as to turn 'em, they turned easy enough even tho the rider was a long ways behind, and making a big circle that rider finally had 'em headed towards the big corrals of the home ranch. A big grin spread over the cowboy's features as the sun shined on the slick back of the mouse colored horse at the lead of the bunch, and even tho there was a half a mile between him and that horse, _that cowboy_ knowed daggone well it was _him_, for the sun never reflected on no other horse's hide as well as it did on Smoky's, and besides, there was no mistaking the good feeling action of that pony's. "Told you I'd be the first to see you when spring broke up," says the cowboy as he held his horse down to a lope. The twenty-five mile run from the time Smoky had been spotted kinda filled the bill far as running was concerned, and when the long wings of the pole corrals at the home ranch was reached the rider was right on the ponies' tails and on the job to keep 'em going straight ahead into the corral;--then the big gate closed in on 'em. "Guess you don't know me no more," says Clint to Smoky as he stood afoot in the corral and watched the pony tear around;--then to hisself: "Maybe he don't know it's _me_ that's watching him." Clint was right, the long winter months of freedom without seeing one human had kind of let him get back to his natural wild instinct, and the first sight of Clint had been of just a human, and it'd spooked him up till he'd have to calm down some before it'd come to him just _who_ that human was. The cowboy spoke to him as Smoky, wild eyed, snorted and hunted for a hole, but Clint kept a speaking, and as the pony tore around and heard the voice, something gradually came to him that seemed far away and near forgot. He stopped a couple of times to look at the cowboy, and each time his getting away was less rushing, till, as the voice kept a being heard, things got clearer and clearer in that pony's brain. Smoky had stopped once more, and neck bowed, ears straight ahead, and eyes a sparkling, faced acrost the corral to where the cowboy, still and standing, was talking to him. "Daggone your little hide," says Clint, "are we going to have to get acquainted all over again?--come on over here and let me run my hand over that knowledge bump of yours, and maybe I can get your think tank to functioning right again."