"No ... not that," he muttered. "I'll not be comin' ... on a stallion shod with fire, or anythin' else." Then he began this cruder, livelier strain:
"Foot in th' stirrup an' hand on th' horn,
Best damn cowboy ever was born,
"Coma ti yi youpa ya, youpa ya,
Coma ti yi—
"Dog-gone bolt's too short, Abe," he muttered to the sorrel who stood within the enclosure. "Too short—
"I herded an' I hollered an' I done very well,
Till th' boss says, Boys, just let 'em go to hell!
"Coma ti yi—
"What do you see, Boy?"
As he turned to go toward the blacksmith shop, he saw the horse standing with head up and every line of his body rigid, gazing off on the valley.
"You see somebody?" he asked, and swung up on the corral for a better view.
Far out beyond and below him a lazy wisp of dust rose lightly to be trailed away by the breath of warm breeze, and, after his eyes had studied it a moment, he discerned a moving dot that he knew was horse and rider.