Chapter Six.
The Spotted Mustang.
Phelim was not mistaken as to the voice that had hailed him. It was that of his master, Maurice Gerald.
On getting outside, he saw the mustanger at a short distance from the door, and advancing towards it.
As the servant should have expected, his master was mounted upon his horse—no longer of a reddish colour, but appearing almost black. The animal’s coat was darkened with sweat; its counter and flanks speckled with foam.
The blood-bay was not alone. At the end of the lazo—drawn taut from the saddle tree—was a companion, or, to speak more accurately, a captive. With a leathern thong looped around its under jaw, and firmly embracing the bars of its mouth, kept in place by another passing over its neck immediately behind the ears, was the captive secured.
It was a mustang of peculiar appearance, as regarded its markings; which were of a kind rarely seen—even among the largest “gangs” that roam over the prairie pastures, where colours of the most eccentric patterns are not uncommon.
That of the animal in question was a ground of dark chocolate in places approaching to black—with white spots distributed over it, as regularly as the contrary colours upon the skin of the jaguar.
As if to give effect to this pleasing arrangement of hues, the creature was of perfect shape—broad chested, full in the flank, and clean limbed—with a hoof showing half a score of concentric rings, and a head that might have been taken as a type of equine beauty. It was of large size for a mustang, though much smaller than the ordinary English horse; even smaller than the blood-bay—himself a mustang—that had assisted in its capture.
The beautiful captive was a mare—one of a manada that frequented the plains near the source of the Alamo; and where, for the third time, the mustanger had unsuccessfully chased it.