“Proh—proh—proshow! Come kindly! come, old horse!”
The invitation was extended to no purpose. The Texan steed did not seem to understand it; at all events, as an invitation to friendly companionship. On the contrary, it had the effect of frightening him; for no sooner fell the “proh” upon his ear, than letting go the mouthful of grass already gathered, he tossed his head aloft with a snort that proclaimed far greater fear than that felt for either wolf or vulture!
A mustang, he knew that his greatest enemy was man—a man mounted upon a horse; and by this time his scent had disclosed to him the proximity of such a foe.
He stayed not to see what sort of man, or what kind of horse. His first instinct had told him that both were enemies.
As his rider by this time appeared to have arrived at the same conclusion, there was no tightening of the rein; and he was left free to follow his own course—which carried him straight off over the prairie.
A bitter curse escaped from the lips of the unsuccessful stalker as he spurred out into the open ground.
Still more bitter was his oath, as he beheld the Headless Horseman passing rapidly beyond reach—unscathed by the bullet he had sent to earnestly after him.