“Good-by，Pedro，“hesaid——“good-by。“Pedrolookedforbread。
“No，“saidhismaster，sorrowfully，“notanymore。Yu’knowwellI’dgiveityu’ifIhadit。Youandmedidn’tfigureonthis，didwe，Pedro？Good-by！“
Hehuggedhisponyagain，andgotasfarasthebarsofthepasture，butreturnedoncemore。“Good-by，mylittlehorse，mydearhorse，mylittle，littlePedro，“hesaid，ashistearswetthepony’sneck。Thenhewipedthemwithhishand，andgothimselfbacktothebunkhouse。AfterbreakfastheandhisbelongingsdepartedtoDrybone，andPedrofromhisfieldcalmlywatchedthisdeparture；forhorsesmustrecognizeevenlessthanmentheblackcornersthattheirdestiniesturn。Theponystoppedfeedingtolookatthemail-wagonpassby；butthemastersittinginthewagonforeboretoturnhishead。
ResignedtowaitfortheJudge’shorses，Balaamwentintohisofficethisdry，brightmorningandreadnineaccumulatednewspapers；forhewasbehindhand。Thenherodeoutontheditches，andmethismanreturningwiththetroublesomeanimalsatlast。HehastenedhomeandsentfortheVirginian。Hehadmadeadecision。
“Seehere，“hesaid；“thosehorsesarecoming。WhattrailwouldyoutakeovertotheJudge’s？“