“you can look at the pistol as i hold it,” said walter, in response to the request recorded at the close of the preceding chapter.

“i say,” remarked the stranger suddenly, “don't you want to buy a horse?”

“how much do you ask for the horse?” he inquired.

“i want to get her off my hands. give me fifty dollars, and she's yours.”

walter had a pad in his satchel and a fountain pen in his pocket. he hastily wrote out the following form:

“in consideration of fifty dollars by me received, i give and transfer to walter sherwood my roan horse.” here followed a brief description of the animal.

“now put your name there, and i will hand you the money,” said walter.

“thank you, stranger! you've got a good bargain.”

“i agree to that,” said walter.

“i suppose the horse is sound?” he said inquiringly.

“sound as a die! don't you take no trouble about that. it goes to my heart to give her up. good-by, old gal!”

walter touched the horse lightly with his whip, and she bounded forward. after a few miles he reached a town of good size. riding along the main street his attention was drawn to a printed notice in front of a store. it read thus:

“horse stolen!

“stolen from the subscriber, on the evening of the twenty-fifth, a roan mare, eight years old and sixteen hands high, with a white mark between the eyes. answers to the name of bess. whoever will return her to the subscriber, or give information that will lead to her recovery, will receive a suitable reward.

“colonel richard owen, shelby.”

a terrible suspicion entered walter's mind. he recognized the white mark. then he called “bess.” the mare half turned her head and whinnied.