One of the needs that Hartigan very soon became aware of in his far-flung pastoral work was that of a good saddle horse. An income of three hundred dollars a year will not maintain very much in the way of a stable, but a horse had to be got, and the idea of looking for one was exceedingly pleasant to him. It needed but the sight and smell of the horse leathers to rouse the old passion bred and fostered in Downey's stable. He loved the saddle, he knew horses as few men did, and had he been ninety pounds lighter he would have made a famous jockey. For many days he was able to put his mind on nothing else. He eagerly took every chance to visit likely stock; he was never so happy as when he was astride of some mettlesome animal, interpreting its moods as only the born horseman can do, and drawing on the reserves of strength which are closed to all but the expert rider. He responded in every fibre of his great physique to the zest of this renewed experience of a loved and lost stable life, and yet the very passion of his enjoyment appalled him at times for it seemed to be in some sense a disloyalty to the new life he had taken up and to draw him away from it. In those days there were motley bands of immigrants crossing the plains from the East, making for the Black Hills as an island of promise in the great open sea, and one of these wanderers from far-off Illinois arrived one evening with the usual outfit of prairie schooner, oxen, milch cow, saddle horses, dogs, and children. Calamity had overtaken the caravan. The mother had died; the father was disgusted with the country and everything in it; and his one idea was to sell his outfit and get the children back East, back to school and granny. At the auction, the cattle brought good prices, but no one wanted the horses. They were gaunt and weary, saddle-and spur-galled; one young and the other past middle life. It was the young horse that caught Hartigan's eye. It was rising three, a well-built skeleton, but with a readiness to look alert, a full mane and tail, and a glint of gold on the coat that had a meaning and a message for the horse-wise. The auctioneer was struggling to raise a bid. "Will any one bid on this fine young colt? All he needs is oats, and a few other things." A laugh went up, which was just what the auctioneer wanted, for merriment is essential to a successful sale. "Here now, boys, who will start him at five dollars? And him worth a hundred." It was too much for Hartigan. He raised his finger to the auctioneer. "There, now, there's a preacher that knows a horse," he prattled away, but no second offer came, and the colt was knocked down to Hartigan for five greasy dollars.