“He’s right about that,” said Reuben warmly. “That’s just the way everybody that knows you feels.”
“Thank you.” There was a tender expression in the eyes of the young scout that prevented Reuben from making any further protest against the action of his friend.
“I am going to take you with me to-morrow into the village and let you see how they treat me. Just now, however, Reuben, I would rather you would not say anything about what I have just told you.”
Abruptly both men stopped, and in a low voice Reuben said: “What is that? It sounds like thunder.”
“It is a drove of wild horses,” answered Kit Carson quickly. “Come with me and we’ll see what they are.”
The sun was now about a half-hour above the horizon. In the soft light of the closing day the sound of the approaching body was almost weird. The band of wild horses was steadily drawing nearer the place where the two scouts had concealed themselves. The wind was blowing toward them, or otherwise the horses would not have approached the spot. They were almost as keen in their ability to detect by their sense of smell the presence of an enemy as were the prowling beasts.
In a brief time the drove came within sight. At the head was the leader, a powerful and beautiful creature, running easily, his head carried high and his pride showing in his every movement.
“Did you ever see such a tail on a horse?” exclaimed Kit Carson in a low voice. “Look at it—it sweeps the ground! Do you know, I believe I’ll get that fellow. If there is anything I am fond of it’s a good horse.”
The scout’s fondness for fleet-footed ponies was well known by his friends. Not a man in the camp was his equal as a rider. He seldom used a saddle, and whatever the motion of the animal he was riding might be, Kit Carson bestrode it almost as if they were parts of the same being.
Reuben, whose heart was beating wildly as he saw the drove approach, said in a whisper: “How will you get him?”