A little while--one small covey of birds and no shots--later, we found ourselves back at the hunting wagon, Rocinante, sucking wind and water. I was, anyway. Jenny was remarkably energetic for having endured such a death march. I figured Jenny had run flat out for approximately 34 miles, and that I had walked at least 20 miles following her. I was also sure that Jenny had, on that wide-open prairie, opened her range up to that of an all-age horseback trial dog. Why, she wasn't even a dog on some casts, but a small, flowing white dot on the far horizon.