"High, Silver!" the man cried out. "High up again!"
Trying to understand what the man on his back wanted, Silver repeated his rearing action. He heard the happy laugh of his rider.
"Now, big fellow," the man called out, "let's travel. Away there, Silver." For a moment the white horse couldn't comprehend. Then he felt a nudge from the heels of the man on his back.
"Hi there you, Silver horse, away!" Silver moved ahead, carrying his master. He was desperately anxious to do what this man wanted. Eager to show his happiness at the finding of a friend. As he moved, he heard shouts of encouragement.
"That's it, Silver! Hi you, Silver, away!"
The horse moved faster. Another shout, this time contracted.
"Hi-Yo' Silver, Away!"
Silver broke into a run. Now he knew what the master wanted. At the next shout, the big stallion gave all his strength in a burst of speed that made his snowy figure like a flash of light across the open plains. The shout was one that later rang throughout the West—the clarion call—the tocsin of a mystery rider who wore a mask.
"Hi-Yo Silver, Away-y-y-y."