He was about to give more advice, but stopped suddenly, and pointed to the northern end of the prairie. There stood a horse, one single, solitary horse. He walked slowly forward, not stopping to graze, turning his head first to one side, then to the other, snuffing the air as he came.
“Do you see?” whispered Sam. “Didn’t I tell you they’d come? That’s the scout come on ahead to see if all’s safe. He’s a wise beast! See how he looks in all directions! He won’t discover us, though, for we have the wind towards us.”
The mustang broke into a trot, running to the right, then to the left, and finally turned and disappeared as we had seen him come.
“Did you see him?” cried Sam admiringly. “How wise he is! An Indian scout could not have done better.”
“That’s so; I’m surprised at him.”
“Now he’s gone back to tell his general the air is pure. How we fooled him! They’ll all be here shortly. You ride back to the other end of the prairie, and wait there, while I go towards them and hide in the trees. When they come I’ll chase them, and they’ll fly in your direction; then you show yourself, and they’ll turn back towards me. So we’ll drive them back and forth till we’ve picked out the two best horses, and we’ll catch them and choose between them. Do you agree?”
“How can you ask? I know nothing of the art of mustang-catching, of which you are past master, and I’ve nothing to do but follow your directions.”
“All right. I have caught mustangs before to-day, and I hope you’re not far wrong in calling me a ‘master’ of that trade. Now let’s take our places.”
We turned and rode in opposite directions, he northward, I southward to the spot where we had entered the prairie. I got behind some little trees, made one end of the lasso fast, and coiled the other ready for use. The further end of the prairie was so far off that I could not see the mustangs when they first appeared, but after I had been waiting a quarter of an hour I saw what looked like a dark cloud rapidly increasing in size and advancing in my direction. At first it seemed to be made up of objects about as big as sparrows, then they seemed like cats, dogs, calves, and at last I saw them in their own proportions. They were the mustangs in wild gallop, coming towards me. What a sight these lordly beasts were, with their manes flying about their necks, and their tails streaming like plumes in the wind! There were at least three hundred head, and the earth seemed to tremble beneath the pounding of their hoofs. A white stallion led them, a noble creature that any man might be glad to capture, only no prairie hunter would ride a white horse, for he would be too conspicuous to his enemies.
Now was the time to show myself. I came out, and the startled leader sprang back as though an arrow had pierced him. The herd halted; one loud, eager whinny from the white stallion which plainly meant: Wheel, squadron! and the splendid fellow turned, followed by all his companions, and tore back whence they had come. I followed slowly; there was no hurry, for I knew Sam Hawkins would drive them back to me. I wanted to make sure I was right in what I had seen, for in the brief instant the herd had halted it seemed to me that one of them was not a horse, but a mule. The animal that I thought a mule had been in the front ranks, immediately behind the leader, and so seemed not merely to be tolerated by its companions, but to hold honorable rank among them.