“Isolina.”
As I finished reading this singular epistle, a thrill of pleasure ran through my veins. I dwelt not on the oddness of its contents, thoroughly characteristic of the writer. Its meaning was clear enough.
I had heard of the white horse of the prairies—what hunter or trapper, trader or traveller, throughout all the wide borders of prairie-land, has not? Many a romantic story of him had I listened to around the blazing campfire—many a tale of German-like diablerie, in which the white horse played hero. For nearly a century has he figured in the legends of the prairie “mariner”—a counterpart of the Flying Dutchman—the “phantom-ship” of the forecastle. Like this, too, ubiquitous—seen today scouring the sandy plains of the Platte, to-morrow bounding over the broad llanos of Texas, a thousand miles to the southward!
That there existed a white stallion of great speed and splendid proportions—that there were twenty, perhaps a hundred such—among the countless herds of wild-horses that roam over the great plains, I did not for a moment doubt. I myself had seen and chased more than one that might have been termed “a magnificent animal,” and that no ordinary horse could overtake; but the one known as the “white steed of the prairies” had a peculiar marking, that distinguished him from all the rest—his ears were black!—only his ears, and these were of the deep colour of ebony. The rest of his body, mane, and tail, was white as fresh-fallen snow.
It was to this singular and mysterious animal that the letter pointed; it was the black-eared steed I was called upon to capture. The contents of the note were specific and plain.
One expression alone puzzled me—
“You have made captive what was once as wild and free.” What? I asked myself. I scarce dared to give credence to the answer that leaped like an exulting echo from out my heart!
There was a postscript, of course: but this contained only “business.” It gave minuter details as to when, how, and where the white horse had been seen, and stated that the bearer of the note—the vaquero who had seen him—would act as my guide.
I pondered not long upon the strange request. Its fulfilment promised to recover me the position, which, but a moment before, I had looked upon as lost for ever. I at once resolved upon the undertaking.
“Yes, lovely Isolina! if horse and man can do it, ere another sun sets, you shall be mistress of the white steed of the prairies!”