“Ben, I felt this comin’ to us six months back,” said Nevada, soft–voiced, hovering around Ben like a woman. “Reckon I didn’t know what it was. But Hettie gave me the hunch. I tell you our luck has changed…. Mebbe I’ll have to kill Less Setter, but that’s neither here nor there…. You ride in to see your mother an’ sister. Make them happy for havin’ faith in you. While you’re gone I’ll do a heap of thinkin’. But come back to–morrow night.”

“What’ll you think so hard about?” asked Ben, curiously.

“Wal, most about California Red,” replied Nevada, with utmost seriousness. “Ben, that red–skinned mustang has wintered over here at Mule Deer Lake.”

“Nevada!” expostulated Ben, suddenly transfixed.

“It’s a fact, unless all them cowmen was lyin’. An’ I don’t see why they should lie. Red is pretty darn smart. We thought he was rangin’ round the lava beds an’ Modoc caves, where there was so many wild hosses, or else over in that big country east of Wild Goose Lake. But the son–of–a–gun wasn’t ten miles from here all winter. Nobody chased him. Reckon those who knew didn’t think there was any chance. But I say winter’s the best time to ketch wild hosses. I’ll prove it to you yet.”

“Too late now. Here’s spring and summer coming fast. You and Modoc ride over to Mule Deer Lake to–morrow.”

“Shore will. I hate to tell you, Ben, there’ll likely be more’n one outfit after California Red from now on.”

“Why now, more than last winter or summer?” queried Ben, sharply.

“Wal, I heard a lot of talk in the saloons,” replied Nevada. “One of them new–rich lake ranchers, Blaine it was, has offered three thousand dollars for California Red, sound an’ well broke.”

“Blaine!” ejaculated Ben, in amaze. “That’s Hart Blaine. There’s only one. He’s a neighbor of my father’s…. Three thousand dollars! Why, that’s a fortune! He used to be so stingy he wouldn’t give a boy an apple out of his orchard. All that money!”

“You ought to be tickled to death,” declared Nevada. “For no one else but you will ever ketch Red.”

“I didn’t think of the money. But what could Blaine want that wild horse for? Sound and well broke!”

“Say, any rancher in northern California would go broke for Red,” rejoined Nevada. “Some cowboy said Less Setter offers more than three thousand. If he pays it I’m goin’ to think money’s comin’ easy, an’ you can bet I’ll look around on the ranges…. Yes, I mean just that, Ben Ide. But the fellows at Hammell reckon Blaine wants California Red for his daughter.”

The idea struck Ben so strangely that he uttered a loud laugh. California Red, that wild fleet sorrel mustang for sweet little Ina Blaine! It seemed so ridiculous. Yet Ina Blaine was the only person Ben could have allowed to possess the great stallion, even in thought. California Red was his, by right of discovery—for Ben had been the first to see the red–flashing colt on the sage—and by the years of watching and striving.