He carried only his rifle, revolver, and a small quantity of bread and meat, and thus lightly burdened, he made swift progress down the slope and out into the valley.  Darkness was coming on, and he welcomed it.  Stars were blinking when he reached his old hiding-place in the split of canyon wall, and by their aid he slipped through the dense thickets to the grassy enclosure.  Wrangle stood in the center of it with his head up, and he appeared black and of gigantic proportions in the dim light.  Venters whistled softly, began a slow approach, and then called.  The horse snorted and, plunging away with dull, heavy sound of hoofs, he disappeared in the gloom.  “Wilder than ever!” muttered Venters.  He followed the sorrel into the narrowing split between the walls, and presently had to desist because he could not see a foot in advance.  As he went back toward the open Wrangle jumped out of an ebony shadow of cliff and like a thunderbolt shot huge and black past him down into the starlit glade.  Deciding that all attempts to catch Wrangle at night would be useless, Venters repaired to the shelving rock where he had hidden saddle and blanket, and there went to sleep.

The first peep of day found him stirring, and as soon as it was light enough to distinguish objects, he took his lasso off his saddle and went out to rope the sorrel.  He espied Wrangle at the lower end of the cove and approached him in a perfectly natural manner.  When he got near enough, Wrangle evidently recognized him, but was too wild to stand.  He ran up the glade and on into the narrow lane between the walls.  This favored Venters’s speedy capture of the horse, so, coiling his noose ready to throw, he hurried on.  Wrangle let Venters get to within a hundred feet and then he broke.  But as he plunged by, rapidly getting into his stride, Venters made a perfect throw with the rope.  He had time to brace himself for the shock; nevertheless, Wrangle threw him and dragged him several yards before halting.

“You wild devil,” said Venters, as he slowly pulled Wrangle up.  “Don’t you know me?  Come now—­old fellow—­so—­so—­”

Wrangle yielded to the lasso and then to Venters’s strong hand.  He was as straggly and wild-looking as a horse left to roam free in the sage.  He dropped his long ears and stood readily to be saddled and bridled.  But he was exceedingly sensitive, and quivered at every touch and sound.  Venters led him to the thicket, and, bending the close saplings to let him squeeze through, at length reached the open.  Sharp survey in each direction assured him of the usual lonely nature of the canyon, then he was in the saddle, riding south.

Wrangle’s long, swinging canter was a wonderful ground-gainer.  His stride was almost twice that of an ordinary horse; and his endurance was equally remarkable.  Venters pulled him in occasionally, and walked him up the stretches of rising ground and along the soft washes.  Wrangle had never yet shown any indication of distress while Venters rode him.  Nevertheless, there was now reason to save the horse, therefore Venters did not resort to the hurry that had characterized his former trip.  He camped at the last water in the Pass.  What distance that was to Cottonwoods he did not know; he calculated, however, that it was in the neighborhood of fifty miles.