Our hunters supposed the horses were about to pass them, and part company without coming closer. They all regretted this, as they were desirous of having a nearer view of these noble creatures. In order not to alarm them as they were coming up, all three had taken the precaution to dismount; and now stood partially screened by their own horses, yet holding the latter firmly—as these were terrified by the thundering tramp of the wild steeds.
In a moment the mustangs appeared opposite—that is, with their sides turned to the hunters; and the latter now saw with joy that they were not passing away, but galloping in a circle—of which they, the spectators, were the centre!
The circle in which the horses ran was scarcely half a mile in diameter, and they appeared to be approaching nearer to the centre. In fact, they were not following the circumference of a circle, but a spiral curve that contracted gradually inward.
The boys had now a fair view of them, and a beautiful sight it was. There were about two hundred in all, but they were of different colours—scarcely two of them being marked alike. There were black and white ones, and bay and roan. Some were brown, some sorrel, and some of an iron-grey; and there were others—many of them—mottled and spotted like hounds! All had flowing manes and long waving tails; and these streamed behind them as they galloped, adding to the gracefulness of their appearance. It was, in truth, a beautiful sight, and the hearts of the boys bounded within them, while their eyes followed the moving troop as it circled round and round.
But the eyes of all three soon centred upon one—the leader, and a fairer object none of them had ever beheld. Basil, who loved a fine horse more than any living thing, was in an ecstasy as he gazed upon this beautiful creature. It was no wonder, for a more perfect-looking animal could hardly have been conceived. He was larger than any of the herd, though still under the size of an English horse. His full chest and prominent eye-balls—his well-bound flanks and quarters—his light cylindrical limbs and small finely-shaped hoofs, showed of what race he was—an Arab of the Andalusian breed—a descendant of the noble steeds that carried the first conquerors of Mexico. His proportions were what a judge would have pronounced perfect; and Basil, who, in fact, was a judge, had already said so. He was white all over—white as the mountain-snow. As he galloped, his nostrils appeared open and red, his eyes stood prominently forth, his mane was tossed on both sides of his neck from his crest to his withers, and his long tail streamed horizontally behind him. His free, graceful movements—like that of all his followers—showed that no saddle had ever been laid across his back.
As Basil gazed upon this noble creature, he became imbued with an irresistible desire to possess him. It is true he already had a horse, and as fine a one as ever wore saddle; but it was Basil’s weakness to covet every fine horse he saw; and this one had inspired him with a most particular longing to become his owner. In a few seconds’ time, so eager had grown this desire, that Basil felt as if he would have given all he had in the world—Black Hawk, perhaps, excepted—to be the master of this prairie steed. Throwing a lasso, as Basil could, and mounted as he was, it would strike you that he might soon have gratified his wish; but it was not so easy a thing, and Basil knew that. He knew that he might without difficulty overtake and fling his noose over some of the “fags” of the herd; but to capture the leader was quite another thing—a feat never accomplished upon the prairies, even by the Indians themselves. He had often heard this, nevertheless, he was determined to try. He had great confidence in the speed and bottom of Black Hawk.
He communicated his determination to his brothers, in a whisper—lest he might frighten the mustangs, now circling very near. Lucien tried to dissuade him, offering as a reason, that it would lead them from their course, and might separate them from each other.
“No,” said Basil. “Go on to the butte, you and François. I shall come to you—perhaps I may be there before you. Do not say a word, brother,—you need not. I must have that horse; and I shall capture him if it cost me a fifty-mile gallop.”
While Basil was speaking, he drew closer to his left stirrup, looked to the lasso that hung coiled upon the horn of his saddle, and then stood ready to mount. Lucien saw it was of no use to urge his advice farther, and ceased to interfere. François would fondly have joined Basil in the chase; but his diminutive pony rendered the idea too absurd to be acted upon.
During all this time the wild horses had continued their evolutions. At intervals they would halt at a signal from their leader, and wheel into line, facing inward towards the little group. In this position they would remain for a few seconds, with heads erect, gazing with curious wonder at the strange intruders upon their domain. Some of them would paw the ground, and snort as if in anger. Then the foremost would utter his shrill neigh, and all would go off again, circling about as before.