But all them good points of Smoky’s was nothing as compared to the rest of what that horse really had been as a horse, and there’s where Smoky had got under Clint’s hide, as a horse, one in a thousand.
The last of the wagons had trailed into the home ranch, and the next day, the remuda was hazed out to the winter range. Clint wasn’t along that fall to see the ponies turned loose. Instead he was in the big bunk house at the home ranch, and busy stuffing his saddle into a gunny sack. A railroad map was spread on the floor and which the cowboy had been studying.
Jeff opened the door of the bunk house and took in at a glance what all Clint was up to. He noticed the railroad map laying by his foot and smiled.
“I figgered you would,” he says, “now that Smoky is not with the outfit no more.”
The first of winter had come and hit the high mountains of the southern country. Big, dark clouds had drifted in, drenched the ranges down to bedrock with a cold rain, and hung on for days. Then the rain had gradually turned to a wet snow, kept a falling steady, and without a break, till it seemed like the country itself was shivering under the spell.
Finally, and after many long days, the dark clouds begin to get lighter and lighter and started lifting and drifting on. Then one evening, the sun got a chance to peek thru and smile at the country again. It went down a smiling that way, and after it disappeared over the blue ridge, a new moon took its place for a spell, and like as to promise that the sun would smile again the next day.
And it did; it came up bright and real fitting to that Arizona country. The air was clear as spring water in a granite pool, and as still. The whole world seemed dozing and just contented to take on all the warmth and life the sun was giving. A mountain lion was stretched out on a boulder, warm and comfortable, where the day before he’d been in his den all curled up and shivering. Then a few deer come out of their shelter, hair on end and still wet thru, but as they reached the sunny side of the mountain it wasn’t long when it dried again, and layed smooth.
Further down the mountain and more on the foothills, a little chipmunk stuck his head out of his winter quarters and blinked at the sun. He blinked at it for quite a spell like not believing, and pretty soon came out to make sure. He stood up, rolled in the warm dirt, and in more ways than one made up for the long days he’d holed away. Other chipmunks came out, and then he went visiting. More seeds was gathered as he went from bush to bush and even though he already had a mighty big supply already stored away, he worked on as though he was afraid of running short long before spring come.
He was at his busiest, and tearing a pine cone apart for the nuts he’d find inside, when he hears something a tearing thru the brush and coming his way. Away he went and hightailed it towards his hole, and he’d no more than got there when he gets a glimpse of what looked like a mountain of a horse and running for all he was worth. A long rope was dragging from his neck.
The chipmunk went down as far in his hole as he could, stood still and listened a minute, and then storing away the nuts he’d gathered, stuck his head out once more. He chirped considerable as he looked around to see if any more out of the ordinary or dangerous looking was in sight, and he’d just had time to blink at the scenery a couple of times, when he gets a glimpse of another horse—this one was packing a man, and at the same speed went right on the trail the other had left.
The chipmunk never wondered what this running was all about, he just chirped and ducked out of sight; but it wasn’t long when he stuck his head out again and gradually showed all of himself. He stood up on a rock close to his hole, and looking around from there, he could see two objects out towards the flat, moving fast, and seeming like one trying to catch up with the other. He watched ’em, till a raise finally took ’em out of sight; then he watched some more and in other directions, and seeing nothing that’d need watching, he went to visiting again and to gathering more nuts.
Out on the flat, and on the other side of the raise, the two objects went on. How glad that one object in the lead would of been to’ve changed places with the chipmunk and like him been able to crawl down a hole and hide for a spell. For hours and hours thru the night he’d been trailed. His hoofs had sunk deep into the mud every step he’d took, but acrost foothills and dobe flats he’d went on, always the human close behind.
Twice that human’d disappeared and he’d took hope, but soon he’d show up again, and mounted on a fresh horse would chase him some more. A rope had settled around his neck once—he’d fought till it broke, and run on a dragging it.
He was getting tired, mighty tired, and beginning to feel with each step he took that the country was in a cahoots with the man and trying to hold him back. His feet went ankle deep in the soft, rain-soaked ground, and pulling out and placing ’em ahead steady, on and on, was getting to be more and more of an effort.
Once again the man disappeared, only to
