the ground and lay as motionless as

  "Whiskers ain't quite got back 'spectable yet, Boy," grinned Blue Pete. "I sure dosed her fer fair up thar among them bohunks, an' she's hangin' her head a bit. But she's the same ole gal, ain't yuh, Whiskers?"   He whistled again. The pinto sank to the ground and lay as motionless as the rocks about.   "Ain't lost a trick, not a dang one. An' she knows yuh, Boy. Yuh ain't changed--not 's much as me. . . . But I'm sure the same old Blue Pete."   Mahon dug cruel spurs into his horse's sides. Throwing himself from the saddle, he seized the half-breed's hand and held it in both his own without a word. A great tear gathered on either eyelid. Blue Pete laughed in shamefaced happiness and dropped his squinting eyes.   And the pinto tore to shreds the rule of a lifetime: she clambered to her feet without orders and reached up to nibble at the edge of Mahon's Stetson. The Sergeant threw an arm about her neck and pressed his face to the yellow blotch below the left eye. . . .   As the evening shadows from the Hills lay long across the prairie, and the birds chirped sleepily, Mahon stood up with a sigh.   "You'll have to come in to the barracks, Pete. I--I can't help it."   "Get goin'," grinned the halfbreed.   The Sergeant bent over his girth with flushed face.   "I have no idea what's in store for you, Pete. The Inspector has a lot of faith in you."   Blue Pete studied him quizzically. "More'n you have?"