Clipper, looking at his young master, whinnied again, but, though he tried he could not walk without pain.
Just at that moment, Benjy heard a pounding of horses’ feet. At first he thought it might be a herd of the small wild ponies that sometimes were seen near the mountains, but as he waited and watched around the jutting rocks there appeared a tall Indian lad seated on a pony, leading another that he had evidently just captured from a wild herd and followed by a third small horse.
Benjy climbed high on a rock and halooed at the top of his voice but the rider was going in the direction of the Indian village and away from Benjy. Again the lad shouted but each second took the galloping horses farther and farther away from him.
Realizing that his voice could not be heard, the boy stood still watching the retreating figures and wondering what he ought to do, when suddenly he became tense and alert.
The wild pony that had been captured by the Indian lad made a sudden break for liberty. After rearing, it made a backward lunge and the rope that had been an improvised halter was torn from the hand of its captor; then snorting shrilly, the small horse galloped away and back toward the mountains.
The dangling rope, snapping this way and that at his heels, terrorized him, and, with eyes wild, he raced as he had never raced before. Plunging blindly, he headed directly for the spot where Benjy stood watching. In an instant the boy had formed a plan. Leaping behind a mesquite bush, he crouched waiting the oncoming horse. Nearer and louder came the swift pounding of hoofs, then, just as the lad had hoped, the dragging rope was flung toward him. The boy endeavored to seize it, but the pony had seen him, and, rearing on his hind feet, he whirled, but that very motion made him captive, for the rope swung around the stout mesquite bush and held long enough for Benjy to make it fast.
Then the boy wisely ran out of reach of the wildly plunging horse, which enraged at his unexpected recapture, snorted and dragged so hard on the rope that Benjy feared the bush would be uprooted.
The Indian lad was galloping toward them at top speed, followed by the faithful pony. “Hold him if you can!” was the cry that reached Benjy’s ears. It was English, which meant that the rider was either Strong Heart, or Fleet Foot of whom he had not heard.
A lasso whirled through the air as the rider neared. It coiled like a snake about the forefeet of the rearing pony and pulled him to the ground.
“What a beautiful little horse you have there,” Benjy said by way of greeting.