But that was just the push I needed to send me on. The instant my eyes had lighted upon that herd of glorious, half-tamed beasts my thighs had itched to clasp horse-flesh again, and the idea that the stallion was unbroken was the definite lure. One gift I confess to pride in is my knack with horses. It comes naturally to me, and at home in England and afterward in France, I had frequent occasion to learn the fine points of the ménage. Moreover, I was fairly sure from what little I had seen of the horse Indians up to this time that their only theory of horse-taming was horse-breaking. They knew nothing of the arts of conciliation by which the most high-strung animals can be mastered—arts which I had learned from many a Gypsy farrier to supplement the natural ability that was born in me. I suspected that in the case of this stallion they had found it impossible to do anything with him short of killing him.
I kept on, emitting a shrill whistle, which, as I anticipated, switched the stallion's attention from the Indian boy to myself. He hesitated, looked from one to the other of us—and gave the boy time to catch his own badly-scared mount. That was enough for the stallion. He was after some human on two legs, and he cantered up to me, eyes wickedly distended, lips drawn back. I simply folded my arms, and waited until he was within ear-shot before I spoke to him in a gentle, soothing tone, taking care to reveal no trace of fear or uneasiness. I suppose he had never heard a kind word from a man. It would have been contrary to the practice of his masters. So he was bewildered, and he slowed up involuntarily, and sidled around me.
I made no attempt to catch him, and his curiosity increasing, he circled me and peered into my face, careful to keep beyond reach, for he was now more afraid of me than vicious. I was a new experience. An Indian was something that he knew would lash him or kick him or stick a lance into him. He didn't know what I would do. So I talked to him some more, using the few Dakota words I had picked up, but aiming more to influence him by the tone of my voice and my eyes. And gradually I succeeded. He came closer. He pushed his velvet muzzle into my face, whinnying as ingratiatingly as though I were a young mare. But I affected not to notice him, and talked on.
When I threw one arm around his lowered neck, his eyes widened, but he did not bare his teeth or draw back. When I twisted one hand in his mane he shivered slightly, but stood still. I talked to him a while longer, and he quieted down. Then I patted his broad back, and vaulted upon it, leaned forward quickly and whispered again in his high-cocked ear. He hesitated, I pressed his flanks with my knees, jerked his mane, and he headed toward the herd.
Fifty feet from the nearest of his kind I slid from his back, and slapped him smartly on the rump. He turned his head, gave me a reproachful glance and cantered quietly up to a group of mares, taking his place as if by right among them. But as I walked away he flung up his head once and sent after me a prolonged whinny of farewell, surely as close to a human good-by as a beast could manage.
Nadoweiswe, with Chatanskah and Tawannears, rode out from the array of warriors to meet me.
"The Adder says," Tawannears hailed me, "that he would like to have you sit at his right-hand in his teepee. He does not know how good a warrior you are—" the Seneca's teeth showed in a smile—"but he is sure you would make a great horse-stealer."
I laughed.
"What did you tell The Adder?" I asked.
"I told him this was a feat I had never seen you perform before, and I did not think that you would consent."