“What shall we do?” asked the latter, excitedly.
“Don’t you suppose Dick could catch one of those fellows?” inquired Frank.
“Of course he could,” answered Archie, quickly. “Didn’t he catch that black mustang he told us about—a horse that every body had tried to catch, and couldn’t? Let’s go back, and ask him to try.”
The boys hastily remounted, and started for the camp as fast as their horses could carry them. Archie, of course, led the way, and, as he dashed up to the wagon, he threw himself from the saddle, exclaiming:
“Dick, there’s a drove of wild horses out there on the prairie. Jump on Sam, and go and catch one for Frank.”
“That’s the same drove I seed day afore yesterday,” said old Bob, “an’ that’s what I meant when I told Frank we’d put him on hossback ag’in afore he war two days older. Ketch my hoss, Dick.”
Dick did as he was desired, and, by this time, Frank had come up, Archie, in his eagerness, having left him far behind.
“Did you skeer ’em, youngsters?” asked old Bob, as he went to the wagon and drew out two rawhide lassos, one of which he handed to Dick.
“No,” replied Frank. “They didn’t see us. Dick, catch the king—he’s a large iron-gray—the prettiest horse in the drove. If I could have him, I would be glad I lost Pete.”