Jack left the gun standing by the fence, leaped over, gave a familiar whistle, and called, "Come, Snowfoot! Co' jock! co' jock!"
There were two horses feeding in the pasture, not far apart. But only one heeded the call, lifted head, pricked up ears, and answered with a whinny. It was the lost Snowfoot, giving unmistakable signs of pleasure and recognition, as he advanced to meet his young master.
Jack threw his arms about the neck of his favorite, and hugged and patted and I don't know but kissed him; while the Betterson boys went up to the fence and looked wonderingly over.
In a little while, as they did not venture to go to him, Jack led Snowfoot by the forelock up to the rails, which they had climbed for a better view.
"Is he your horse?" they kept calling to him.
"Don't you see?" replied Jack, when he had come near enough to show the white feet and the scars; and his face gleamed with glad excitement. "Look! he and the dog know each other!"
It was not a Betterson, but a Peakslow style of fence, and Lion could not leap it; but the two animals touched noses, with tokens of friendly recognition, between the rails.
"I never expected such luck!" said Jack. "I've not only found my horse, but I've saved the reward offered."
"You haven't got him yet," said Rufe. "I guess Peakslow will have something to say about that."
"What he says won't make much difference. I've only to prove property, and take possession. A stolen horse is the owner's, wherever he finds him. But of course I'll act in a fair and open way in the matter; I'll go and talk with Peakslow, and if he's a reasonable man—"