“‘Then you ain’t no great shakes of a trapper,’ said another.
“Now, the rascal knowed that war a lie, for there warn’t no trapper in the country that could lay over Bill, ’cept ole Bob Kelly, an’ every one said as how he war the best trapper agoin’; an’ the way Bill eyed the feller, made him kinder keerful of his we’pons for a day or two arterward.
“Arter talking a little while, we found out the black mustang war the leader o’ the largest drove on the prairy. He had been round for ’bout a year, an’ every trapper in that part of the country had had a chase arter him; but it war like chasin’ the wind; an’ besides this, he could run all day, an’ be jest as fresh at night as when he started in the mornin’.
“‘Wal,’ thinks I, ‘Dick, here’s a good chance for you to try your hoss’s travelin’ qualities;’ an’ I made up my mind that I would start off an’ foller the black mustang till I ketched him, if it tuk me my lifetime.
“The next mornin’, arter breakfast, one o’ the trappers proposed that we should spend three or four days in huntin’ up the mustang, an’, in course, we all agreed to it. The stranger wanted to go, too, but we had no hoss to give him; so, arter biddin’ us all good-by, he shouldered his rifle an’ started out alone acrost the prairy. Wal, we spent a week tryin’ to find that hoss, but didn’t even get a sight at him; so one mornin’ old Bob Kelly concluded that we had better make another strike for the Saskatchewan. We packed up an’ got all ready to start, when I tuk them a good deal by surprise by tellin’ ’em that I war goin’ to stay an’ hunt up the black mustang. How they all laughed at me!
“‘Laugh away, boys,’ says I, as I got on to my hoss. ‘I’ll see you on the Saskatchewan in a month or so, an’ I’ll either bring the mustang with me, or he’ll be a dead hoss. If I can’t ketch him, I can shoot him, you know; an’ I won’t see you agin till I do one or the other. Good-by, fellers.’ An’ I turned my hoss an’ rode away from the camp.
“Wal, I rode all over them prairies for a’most six weeks, without seein’ the sign of a hoss; an’ one arternoon I stopped on the top of a high swell to take my reckonin’. I found myself on the east side o’ the Black Hills, an’ I knowed that my first job was to get on the other side; the mustang had prob’bly struck off toward the mountains. So I began to look around for a good place to get over. The hills rose from the prairy reg’lar bluff-like—sometimes a hundred feet high, an’ so steep that a sheep couldn’t climb up ’em. Jest as it begun to grow dark, I come to a deep ravine, that seemed to run up into the hills a good way; an’ the bottom of this yere ravine was as hard an’ smooth as a floor, an’ looked as if it had been traveled over a good deal. But I war kinder tired with my day’s tramp, an’ didn’t notice it much, for I thought it war nothin’ more’n a buffaler road; so I picked out a good place an’ camped for the night.
“’Arly the next mornin’ I set out agin; but as soon as I got on the road I knowed that no buffaler had made them tracks; they war mustangs, an’ there war the prints of their hoofs in the dust, plain as a bar’s ears. When I come to examine the signs, I found, as nigh as I could kalkerlate, that there war about three hundred hosses in the drove, an’ I knowed, from the looks of the tracks, that they had been along lately; so I pushed ahead as fast as my hoss could carry me, an’ that wasn’t slow, I tell you. I rid him all day at a tearin’ rate, an’ at dark he seemed as willin’ to go as when I started out. This put me in high spirits, an’ I made up my mind that if me and my hoss ever got arter that black mustang, he would have to pick up his feet mighty lively to get away from us. The next day, about noon, I war riding along at a thumpin’ rate, when all to onct I come to a place where the ravine opened into a small prairy, and scattered all over it war the wild hosses, feedin’ away as peaceably as if no one had ever thought of disturbin’ them there. I pulled up so quick that it a’most brought my hoss on his haunches; but the mustangs had seed me, an’ the way they snorted an’ galloped about war a purty thing to look at. I drawed off into the bushes as quick as I could, an’ gathered up my lasso, which I allers carried at my saddle-bow, an’ then looked toward the drove agin. The first hoss I seed was the black mustang. He war runnin’ about, tossin’ his head an’ snortin’ as though he didn’t hardly understand the matter. He war the purtiest hoss I ever sot eyes on; but I couldn’t stop to examine his pints then. Then I tuk a look round the prairy, an’ saw that the hills rose on all sides of it; there was but one way the hosses could get out, an’ that war through the ravine. I war in luck for onct in my life. Now, you boys, if you had been there, would, most like, run out into the prairy to onct, an’ tried to ketch him, but that would have been a reg’lar boy trick, and would have spiled it all. I knowed that I had the black hoss surrounded, but if I begun to race him round that prairy, he would dodge me, an’ be off down the ravine like a shot; so I kept still in the bushes; an’ my hoss knowed his own bisness, and stood as though he war made of rock.
“Purty soon the hosses begun to get over their skeer an’ commenced comin’ toward me—the black hoss leadin’ the way. He would come a few steps, an’ then stop an’ paw the ground, an’ then come a little nearer, an’ so on, till he come within ’bout half a lasso-throw, when, all of a sudden, I give my hoss the word, an’ he jumped out o’ them bushes like a streak o’ lightnin’. It would have made you laugh to see the way them hosses put off; the black hoss, seemed to me, war on wings; but he hadn’t made three jumps afore my lasso war around his neck. The black mustang war mine!
“In about three weeks I reached the Saskatchewan, an’ if you could have heard the yell them trappers give when I rode up to the camp on the mustang, it would have done your heart good. I had kept my promise.”