WITH the nine hundred sixty odd cattle of the Crooked Creek drive safe in the shipping pens at the freight yards at Wyanne, and with the receipt for the same in his pocket, a great load was lifted from the mind of Hank Brodie. His cow-punchers also shared in this relief and entered into the remainder of their visit in Wyanne with the exuberance of school boys. It had been a hard drive although not a very long one, but the stampede, considering the size of the herd, had been a serious one. Even such old timers as Big Bill, Long Tom, and Pony Perkins admitted that they had had enough for the present.
The cow-punchers spent the following day in resting up after their arduous labors with the drive, and looking about the town. In the afternoon they visited the military post and had a little practice on the soldiers' polo grounds.
For the secondary object of the cow-punchers' visit to Wyanne was the playing of a match polo game with the Gray Horse Troop. This event had been announced to the town and to all the surrounding country for fifty miles in every direction. This had been accomplished by means of some large and striking posters which had been displayed in shop windows and upon fences. These posters depicted the polo grounds with four cow-punchers upon their bronchos riding at a terrific pace down the field; while the Gray Horse Troop was backed up in front of their goal defending the honor of the regiment.
This troop of cavalry, as its name indicated, was composed entirely of gray horses which the Commissary Department had secured after a great deal of pains. This was the show troop of the regiment and it was always seen on state occasions. Not only that but among its men were some of the best polo players in the regiment as well as some fine polo ponies. The polo team of the Gray Horse Troop had been champion of the state for several years, but the fame of the Crooked Creek team had been wafted to them on the wings of the west wind and two weeks before Hank Brodie and his cow-punchers had started out on their drive, they had received a challenge from the Gray Horse Troop to play a match game of polo on their grounds at the military post two days before Thanksgiving. The challenge had been gladly accepted and now the cow-punchers turned all of their feverish energies towards the successful culmination of the contest.
For experienced horses and individual players the troopers had every advantage, for while the cow-punchers had only three changes of ponies, the troopers had four. But the cow-punchers were a carefully co-ordinated team. They did not care who got the goal so long as they won. None of them were stars with the possible exception of Larry, but all were terrific workers. They had been trained in a hard school. The cavalry men with all their maneuvers and long marches had never seen such grilling work as the cow-punchers had. Besides, their work among the cattle had helped them for the strenuousness of polo.
Big Bill mounted upon Manito played the defense position, Long Tom on the Panther the secondary defense, while Pony on the Jack Rabbit and Larry on Patches played the forward positions. For their second string of ponies they had Hank Brodie's horse, Baldy, and three pintos. While for their third string they had two bays and two grays. This meant that the horses that started the first chukker had to play three periods and two are considered the usual limit.
On the other hand the troopers had four shifts of horses. They usually started with their grays; the second chukker was played with their bays, the third with their brown ponies and the fourth with their blacks. The second half was played in the same order as the first.
The polo field was located on the troopers' training grounds. It was the usual size, three hundred yards long and one hundred and fifty wide. The goal posts were twenty-four feet apart and the center line bisected the field in the middle from right to left.
The morning of the eventful day dawned bright and clear. The spell of Indian summer which had endured for the past three or four days had given way to a brisk north wind. It was typical football weather and a great day for polo.
Wyanne was gay with colors and many visitors were in town for the match. Cow-punchers and cattle men had come from every part of the state while the troopers also had their champions. When the cow-puncher team went onto the field they were amazed at the crowd. Their own supporters were lined up on the left side of the field. There were cow-punchers galore on horseback dressed in the usual regalia. There were buckboards and spring wagons and large parties in lumber wagons. In order not to be outdone by the troopers the cow-punchers had hired a large brass band. On the opposite side of the field the supporters of the Gray Horse Troop were lined up. Nearly the entire regiment was there with their military band while the townspeople and many visitors from surrounding towns also supported the troopers. There were women on horseback with their escorts, in dog-carts, and in buckboards, and also many a smart carriage and carryall. For this polo match was a great event in Wyoming.
As captain of the team, Big Bill gave his men their last instructions.
"Don't forget for a minute, gents," he said, "that we're jest as good as they be. Our first string of hosses can't be beat in these parts and we'll only fight the game one chukker at a time. Now, gents, this will be our policy, get their goats at the start, get hold of the ball and keep it hanging for about four minutes then we will cut loose and show them all what we can do. This will take as little as possible out of our best string of hosses and we got to use our minds. As far as hosses are concerned they have got us whipped before we start but we jest got to use our beans, So go at them, boys, for the honor of the cow-punchers of Wyoming."
Then the military band played the Star Spangled Banner while the cow-puncher's band responded with Hail, Columbia, and Marching Through Georgia. Then the referee called the captains together for the start and the teams lined up for the throw-in. Three players from each team lined up opposite each other about six feet apart each on their own side of the center line, while the defense man on each side played about twenty yards back towards his own goal. Then the referee tossed the ball along the alley between the teams and the game was on.
Larry and the first trooper locked mallets and the ball rolled on to the second pair. Pony and the second trooper executed the same maneuver. Then Long Tom, whose arms were a tremendous length, reached out and with a skillful twist of his wrist shot the ball back under the horses of the cow-punchers. It only rolled a few yards but that was all that Long Tom wanted. Like a flash the three cow-punchers wheeled and before the troopers knew what their next play would be they had formed in a little closely-packed triangle about the ball.
The troopers rode 'round and 'round this triangle reaching for the ball from every possible position, but the bronchos merely shifted their positions enough to keep them away from the ball. As soon as it rolled out into danger one of the cow-punchers leaned over and tapped it back to the open spot between them.
The crowd, especially the supporters of the troopers, were entirely nonplussed by this maneuver. This was a form of strategy that the cow-punchers had been practising nearly every evening all through the summer. In the technique of polo this was called keeping the ball hanging, but in the phraseology of Big Bill it was just treading on the ball.
Presently the men from the regiment began shouting to their comrades. "Get that ball! Poke it out! Play polo! Start the game! What are you doing, treading water?" Meanwhile the supporters of the cow-punchers were filled with glee and shouted their derision across the polo field.
The troopers attacked the little triangle from every side. They tried to spur their ponies through between the cow-punchers' ponies, but this crowding and pushing game was a part of the day's work for the bronchos for during the round-up season they did little else. They were in the habit of crowding a steer that weighed three or four hundred pounds more than they did, so in this football polo they were right in their element.
"I say," growled the captain of the troopers' team, after a couple of minutes of futile efforts to break through and get the ball, "if you don't want to play the ball let us have it. You will ruin the game."
"Oh, hurry up," put in another trooper, "you fellows will want to get home and milk the cows."
"We ain't in no hurry," growled Long Tom, "our cows will wait as long as your hosses."
Whenever the ball was in danger from one side of the triangle some one would tap it across to the other. Once it bounded out into the open and was nearly lost. But by this time the supporters of the troopers had become nearly frantic. "Start to play," they yelled. "Get going."
Even the friends of the cowboys began to look serious. This was not the sort of game they had expected.
Then at a signal from Big Bill which indicated that four minutes of the chukker had already passed, Long Tom reached down and with a quick stroke shot the ball over to Bill who was watching for it and he in turn drove it sharply down the field in an oblique direction while the cow-puncher supporters yelled with delight. Their favorites had broken loose and the fun was on.
At the crack of Bill's mallet Larry was off to the right side of the field following the ball while Pony galloped for the left and Long Tom took up his position in the middle, half way between them, while the defense man for the troopers raced back towards his goal and the rest of the troopers tried to break up the triangular drive of the cow-punchers.
Larry overtook the ball just before it went out of bounds at the right side of the field and cracked it over to Long Tom who relayed it to Pony Perkins at the left side. It must not be imagined that the troopers had been idle all this time, for a gray horse rider was after each of the cowboys trying to upset his play. Pony's next drive sent the ball back to the middle of the field just in time to escape a galloping trooper and Long Tom relayed it to Larry not a second too soon. The ball had now moved up to within fifty yards of the goal post and the troopers' defense man had come out to anticipate a possible shot, but Larry had no intention of trying for a goal. Instead he relayed the ball back to Long Tom who was also about fifty yards from the goal post and in the middle of the field. So the gray horse defense man moved over to meet this new threat and two of his team-mates joined him, but Long Tom had no intention of shooting, for like a flash he shot the ball back to Larry and he in turn drove it between the goal posts only two feet inside the right hand post and the cow-punchers had drawn first blood.
Then the teams changed goals and lined up again for the throw-in. This time the troopers secured the ball and started the drive towards the cow-punchers' goal, but before it was well under way the referee's whistle sounded for the end of the chukker and the two teams trotted off to the stables to change their mounts.
"Thank heaven that's over," said Big Bill.
"Me and the Jack Rabbit ain't wet a hair," said Pony.
"Patches didn't even get limbered up," put in Larry.
"The Panther didn't even know we were playing," said Long Tom.
"That was my strategy," said Big Bill. "Heaven only knows how much we will have to use these hosses before we get through this here game so I planned to rest them all I could. This next chukker will be different. It will have to be billiards from the start. Bang! Whiz! Zip! We got to do some fancy riding this chukker, gents, we got to protect our one-point lead."
In less time than it takes to tell, the saddles were put on fresh horses and the two teams started back to the grounds. This time Larry was mounted upon Baldy, and the other three cowboys on pintos, while the troopers were mounted on their bays.
Larry secured the ball at the throw-in and tapped it back beneath Baldy's feet. He whirled like a flash and Larry hit the ball again, driving it over to Big Bill who was watching for it. As the cowboys' defense man with his powerful right arm drove the ball far down the field into the troopers' territory Larry and Pony were after it riding like the wind.
But the troopers' rover was too quick for them for he intercepted the ball and drove it back and two of his team-mates followed his lead and soon the three were sweeping down the field in a sort of drag-net formation, each carrying the ball in turn and passing it quickly from one to another in short snappy passes. The cow-punchers checked back rapidly in front of the advance trying to get in and secure the ball but they could not stem the rush. When the ball was within seventy-five yards of the cow-punchers' goal Larry got in ahead of the trooper who was after it and with a skillful left-side stroke drove it out of bounds, Here the teams again lined up for the throw-in. This time the cowboys secured the ball and started down the field in their triangular formation using long passes obliquely across the field. In each pass they gained a few rods until they were within sixty yards of the troopers' goal when they again lost the ball and it started back down the field.
It was just the kind of polo the crowd enjoyed, full of hard riding, brilliant strokes, and great suspense. Back and forth the ball flew. First one goal was threatened and then the tide would turn and the other team would be on the defense, backed up to their goal post. It was hard to tell which had the better of it. All eight players were superb riders and their mounts were good and all of the ponies knew the game.
A little luck on either side, a missing of a stroke, and a lucky shot might have scored, but as it happened the chukker ended with the ball absolutely in the middle of the field where it had started and the two teams trotted off again for fresh mounts.
"Wal, gents," said Big Bill, "we got along all right so far, but this here chukker that's coming is going to be a tough one. These here ponies we're going to ride now ain't ever connected up fully with the idee that they are to follow the ball. Of course they are good hosses and will go where we rein them and will mind the whip and the spur, but they ain't got real polo intelligence. We'll simply do the best we can and let it go at that. Don't forget for a minute, gents, that we are jest as good riders as they be. Their business is living in the saddles and ourn is the same. Stick to them, boys, and make them fight for every inch they get."
This chukker the troopers had the advantage from the start for they secured the ball and immediately started for the cow-punchers' goal using their short quick passes and the drag-net offensive. In almost no time they were threatening the cow-punchers' goal. Big Bill with a stroke like the hammer of Thor lifted the ball which was skipping towards his goal high in air over the troopers' heads. To the great amazement of the spectators it fell squarely in the middle of the field. Soon the troopers were hammering away at their goal again and in three minutes and forty-five seconds after the beginning of play they scored while the regiment and their supporters went wild. The band played Stars and Stripes Forever in acknowledgment of Uncle Sam's troopers.
But nothing daunted by this turn of the fortunes of war the cow-punchers rode back to the middle of the field determined to stem the tide of war which had turned against them. They secured the ball on the throw-in but could only hold it for a few seconds as the troopers' ponies were superior to theirs. Soon it was flying towards their goal carried by this irresistible three-man offensive and the short quick passes. Within fifty yards of their own goal the cow-punchers secured the ball and kept it hanging for a couple of minutes and it almost seemed as though they would ward off another score when with a lucky stroke from one of the troopers the ball went through and the score was two to one in favor of the soldiers.
But this was the end of their scoring for this chukker as the referee's whistle sounded and the cowboys were glad to hear it.
"These here grays and bays are going to be the ruination of us," said Big Bill. "We are as good as they be on our best hosses but we ain't got a smellin on these here mounts. I don't jest know what we are going to do, but we are going to keep on fighting."
The fourth chukker was a direct replica of the first. The cowboys secured the ball on the throw-in and immediately formed a small hollow traingle, keeping the ball hanging. The troopers milled 'round and 'round the little triangle trying to ride through between the closely bunched horses and poked with their mallets for the ball, but they did not get it. Their supporters yelled at them to poke it out, to play polo, while the supporters of the cow-punchers were jubilant. Once the troopers got the ball, when a horse accidentally hit it and knocked it out, and started a drive down the field, but they soon lost the ball and again the cowboys resorted to their football tactics. In this manner they kept the ball hanging for five minutes of the chukker and then they broke loose. Once again they began their triangular drive down the field, Larry on the right, Long Tom in the center and Pony at the left. The troopers galloped hither and you trying to intercept the ball or to put the cow-punchers out of play, but if one of the men at the side was covered, Long Tom shot the ball back to the other and he immediately started dribbling down the side line. It was impossible for the troopers to cover all three men at once so they could not stop the irresistible drive of these knights of the lariat.
Finally they carried the ball down to the fifty-yard line. Each trooper tried to cover his man and prevent the play. Larry drove the ball across to Long Tom, and Pony rode in closely as though he expected to receive the ball. This drew the troopers over to that
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side of the goal and Long Tom immediately drove the ball back to Larry and he in turn shot it through between the posts on the unguarded side and the score was tied.
The cowboys' friends yelled with delight. For a few minutes pandemonium reigned but the chukker was nearly over. The referee's whistle sounded before play could be resumed.
"Wal, boys, we've tied them up so far," said Bill, "and we ain't very badly blowed yet but the wurst is yet to come."
There was a fifteen minute intermission between the halves and this gave the cow-punchers a chance to hold a council of war. Bill called them together and they talked the situation over while they were waiting for their new ponies.
"We are all set for the next chukker," said Bill, "our hosses are all right, but what bothers me is the sixth chukker. Our bays and grays nearly ruined us the last time we rode them."
"I've been thinking about that," said Pony, "but I don't see what else we can do. We can't kill our best hosses."
"Why not play our first string for the sixth chukker and put the pintos and Baldy up for the seventh," said Long Tom.
"Baldy won't stand it," put in Hank Brodie who was standing on the outskirts of the council, "he isn't as young as he used to be."
"Well," said Larry, "there is one thing we can do. Play our best string the sixth, the pintos for the seventh and substitute Patches for Baldy, and then play our best string in the eighth."
"Man alive," ejaculated Big Bill, "you don't want to kill that hoss of yours, do you?"
"I don't think it would kill him," returned Larry confidently. "I don't think you gents know Patches. He is made of iron, he is one horse in a thousand, there won't anything kill him."
"Sounds mighty good to me," said Bill. "If you want to risk Patches we'll put her through."
"Now remember, gents," warned Big Bill, just before they mounted for the fifth chukker, "our policy is to feed the kid. He can shoot to beat anybody on our team and there ain't any hoss in these here parts that can touch Patches. So we'll feed the kid. And don't forget, gents, what we've been through in the last two days. This here polo game is a lady's promenade compared with it. Fellows that have ridden hell-bent through darkness as black as a stack of black cats, going God only knows where, at the head of a thousand fear-crazed steers ain't a-going to show the white feather in any polo game. So jest buck up, boys, and do your darndest."
The fifth chukker was a lively one and the honors were equally divided. The troopers secured the ball on the throw-in and carried it irresistibly down the field. Long Tom and Big Bill both missed easy strokes and before the cowboys knew it a goal had been scored. But they came back strong and tied it up in the last two minutes of play. Once again they carried the ball down the field with their triangular defense until they had reached the fifty-yard line, but for some reason—which the troopers did not understand, Long Tom and Larry had changed positions and Larry was playing at the center. Again the troopers put up a stiff resistance. Long Tom drove the ball over to Larry. It was a ricochetting shot, skimming along the grass in easy bounds. Larry caught it six inches above the ground and with an easy stroke lobbed it over the heads of the amazed troopers and dropped it fairly between the goal posts. It was a beautiful play and wholly unexpected and the cowboy's band celebrated by playing the "Arkansas Traveler" and "The Girl I Left Behind Me," while all of the cow-punchers shouted themselves hoarse.
But nothing daunted the troopers rode on for the sixth chukker. This they expected would be easy for they knew the cow-punchers would have to use their poor string of ponies. But they were an astonished polo team when the cow-punchers trotted on the field mounted upon their best horses.
"Horse killers," yelled somebody in the regiment.
"What are you trying to do to those horses?" shouted another.
But the cow-punchers, all unmindful of this ridicule, took their places. The sixth chukker was nip and tuck. The ball flew up and down the field, but neither team could carry it successfully for any length of time. Sooner or later some one missed a stroke or was put out of play and the ball fell into the opponent's hands.
Again and again Larry and Pony rode down the field behind the trooper who was carrying the ball. Larry would ride in on his right flank just before he reached the ball and as he made the stroke would hook his mallet and Pony would pick up the ball and start it back down the field.
It was a chukker of hard riding, brilliant strokes and many close calls for the defense men. Once the troopers drove the ball over the cow-punchers' goal line, but it was six inches outside the post and the cowboys got a free shot from the back line and this carried the ball out of danger. So the chukker ended with the score still three to three.
The troopers were not surprised to see the cow-punchers come back with the pintos for the seventh, for they reasoned that the other ponies would be out of the question, but they were astonished to see Patches still in the game. Any other horse would have been dripping with sweat and white with lather, but he seemed as fresh as he had in the first chukker. His quick gallops up and down the field, and Larry's sure stroke together with the fine defense work of the cow-punchers' team again held the troopers scoreless and the seventh chukker ended with the score tied.
The troopers rode on the field for the last chukker full of confidence. They felt sure that the cowboys would now have to use one of the poor strings in which case the soldiers looked for a walk-over, but instead the cow-punchers came to the throw-in riding their same old string. All of the ponies but Patches had already played three full chukkers and Patches had been in the game for four and now was starting the fifth. It was unheard of, two chukkers were usually considered the limit and this game had been fast and furious, but the bay horse was still going strong and looked like the best pony on the field.
Again the spectators were treated to brilliant polo. First the troopers took the ball and carried it within striking distance of the opponents' goal, but through a bad shot lost the chance to score. Then the cow-punchers' team failed in the same manner. Back and forth the game swayed. The suspense was terrific. A lucky shot, or a miss of an easy stroke would turn the scale. There was no talking or jesting in the crowd now. Absolute silence reigned. The attention of every one was riveted on the desperately riding players.
When the play had been going for about six minutes the troopers took the ball at the middle of the field and carried it down within striking distance of their opponents' goal, but they lost it through the brilliant playing of Pony and Larry, and the cow-punchers once again started an offensive. Little by little they worked the ball up the field until they were within one hundred yards of their opponents' goal. There was one minute to go, and realizing this fact Big Bill decided to forsake his position as defense man, and, putting spurs to Manito went down the field at a keen gallop after his team mates, determined to do or die.
The troopers were now checking back towards their own goal post. Could they stem the onward rush of the cow-punchers who were carrying the ball with short quick passes? As they neared the fifty-yard line Bill caught up with them and joined the mad rush towards the troopers' goal post. The soldiers were game as Uncle Sam's good fighters always are, but the cow-punchers swept by them, and through them without losing the ball. It was never quite plain to the spectators who shot it through at last for both Larry and Pony struck at the same time. Big Bill and Manito were also in the play and they went crashing into the troopers' right goal post just as Larry and Pony swept through on the other side. The falling post hit Larry a terrific blow on the head as he passed. His first impression was that one of the troopers had struck him with his mallet and then he remembered that they were good sportsmen and gentlemen, and would not do such a thing. He had just sense enough left to hang to the horn of his saddle with one hand, and to clutch Patches' mane with the other. The next thing he remembered he was lying on the grass and some one was throwing water in his face. His Uncle Henry was bending over him. He could hear a great shouting from the crowd but it sounded a long way off. He didn't even know just where he was. But presently his senses cleared and he plainly heard his uncle's voice calling to him. "Larry, Larry, can you hear me? Wake up, boy. Are you coming round?" inquired Uncle Henry anxiously.
For answer Larry pressed his uncle's hand and said feebly, "Oh, yes, I'm all right. I am just tired."
Then his senses cleared and his strength came back and he sat up and looked about. The players of both teams were clustered around him, anxious and palefaced.
"Thank Heaven, kid, that you didn't get killed," said Big Bill. "That was a terrible blow. It was old Manito that knocked the goal post down and hit you on the head as you went through. I guess you will be all right in a minute."
"What's all that yelling for over on our side?" asked Larry. "Did we score? Did we beat?"
"We sure did, kid," returned Bill, "it was you and Patches that did the trick. That hoss is a wonder and his rider is jest as good as he is."
Then the cow-punchers' supporters, a thousand strong, formed in marching order with the band leading and the polo team at their head and started uptown. Soon the cow-punchers who could not restrain their glee opened up with their .45's in a Fourth of July celebration. At first the shots were scattering, but soon they increased until there was a continuous roar which reminded the troopers of a miniature battle.
The band played Hail to the Chief, and. The Conquering Hero Comes, and the cow-punchers sang We're Going Down to Old Wyanne, and Hurry Up You Little Dogie.
They marched and counter-marched through all the main streets and finally drew up before the city hall where each man of the polo team was obliged to make a speech.
It was not until the setting sun had touched the western Wyoming hills and long purple shadows began stealing across the fields behind the trees and fences that the party dispersed and the polo team and the rest of the Crooked Creek cow-punchers thought of home.
"This is going to be pretty tough on you, Larry" said Uncle Henry. "I never thought what a hard day you'd have when I made the arrangements. You see, we started the chuck wagon back this morning and our camp for to-night is thirty miles up the wagon trail towards home. There is over a hundred miles to make between now and to-morrow night where our Thanksgiving dinner will be served at eight o'clock and we must all be there."
Larry groaned inwardly and a great sigh escaped him. It seemed to him that he had never been so tired before in his entire life. Every muscle in his whole body was sore and his back ached so he could hardly sit in the saddle. His wrists were red and swollen and there was a big welt on the back of one hand.
"If you think it will be too much for you," continued his uncle, "we can stay over at a hotel, but the boys will be terribly disappointed if we don't get back for to-morrow night."
Then Larry pulled himself together. It was a strenuous country in which he was living and he was doing a man's part. These cow-punchers were like iron. Fatigue that would kill an ordinary man was nothing to them. Above everything else in the world they admired fortitude. He could not show the white feather now, he would buck up.
"All right, Uncle Henry," he said. "I guess I am good for it. You hold Patches for a minute; I want to go into this grocery store and make a purchase."
Five minutes later the young man re-appeared and the weariness which had been so heavy upon him seemed to have departed. In that short time he had pulled himself together and re-captured his fighting spirit.
Then the little band of cow-punchers swung into their saddles, gave a few departing war whoops, and disappeared in a cloud of dust. It must not be imagined that they kept up this wild gallop for long. This was just for its moral effect upon the citizens of Wyanne. The members of the polo team were probably four as tired and jaded men as could have been found in the state of Wyoming on that night before Thanksgiving Day.
Once outside the town the ponies fell into their habitual running walk, a gait as easy as the trot of a fox and that eats up the miles like the lope of the lobo wolf, a gait that is easy on both man and horse.
When they had covered about five miles Larry pulled Patches up at a convenient turn in the trail which he knew would hide them from sight. Here he dismounted and began feeling in his pockets. Patches thought he understood what his master was looking for and he began nosing about in the different pockets, helping in the search. Finally he found one that bulged more than the rest and this held his attention.
"All right, old chum," said his master, "you've found it." And he pulled out a small bag of lump sugar and gave one to Patches. Patches crowded up close to him and was as excited about the sugar as a small boy would have been over a bag of candy.
"Now kiss me on the right cheek," said Larry and held a lump of sugar up against his cheek. Patches reached over and, with his upper and lower lip, gently pinched his master's cheek and got the desired lump of sugar.
"Now kiss me on the other cheek," he said turning the left side of his face to Patches. With the same gentle pinch he got another lump of sugar.
"Now make a bow and you get two." Patches salaamed very low and got the desired lumps.
"Now shake hands for the next." And Patches' fore foot went up.
"Now," said the boy, putting his arm around the horse's neck affectionately and laying his face against that of the faithful steed, "I'm going to tell you a secret. It wasn't me than won that polo game. It was you, do you know that?" And Patches nickered knowingly. "Now you keep still a minute and don't fidget about and I'll tell you just how you did it. When I made that last shot I didn't hit the ball squarely and it wasn't quite through. You struck it with your foot and got the goal. Don't you see, you scored the winning goal?"
Patches whinnied and asked for another lump of sugar and got two for good measure. Then Larry smoothed out his fore top under the brow band and stroked his beautiful flowing mane, caressed his soft nose and gave him the remaining lumps of sugar.
"Come on, old pal," he said, "we got to be going. They must be a mile ahead of us."
So he swung into his saddle again and Patches resumed his steady lope. Three hours later the faithful horse was nibbling the frost-bitten grass by the roadside thirty miles from Wyanne while his master, wrapped in his blanket with his feet to the camp fire, slept the sleep of utter exhaustion.