5. Wild Horse Drive
The snow had vanished and the desert was dry and thirsty again. Dust spurted up around the hoofs of the wild horses as they loped down a long ridge. The east was beginning to show a pale flush of red and day came quickly to the barren country, lighting the tall spires and castle rocks and the sharp points of the pinnacles, making the monument valley below appear alive.
The chestnut stallion swung along behind the mares. At their head ran an old roan. She was trailwise and wary. Her nose was leading her unerringly to a big water hole at the base of a cliff. The others pounded along behind her with the colts frisking beside their mothers. The chestnut halted every little while to whirl and sniff the morning air. He held his head high and his protruding eyes rolled as he stared back over the broken country they had left behind.
The roan trotted off the ridge and down through a jumble of rocks to the base of a cliff. The horses nickered softly as they smelled water. The roan’s muzzle was a scant foot from the yellow surface of the pool when wild yells shattered the morning calm. The band whirled and stood with heads up, staring toward a rocky slope. Above them the big chestnut screamed a warning and an order to charge away.
Down the slope toward the water hole galloped four riders. Their naked bodies gleamed copper-red in the new sunlight as they bent low over the necks of their lean ponies. With squeals of fright the band whirled and charged down the canyon. A cloud of yellow dust billowed at their heels. The chestnut stallion crashed down on their flanks with bared teeth and pounding hoofs. When a mare lagged he drove her squealing into the band. The mad charge carried the wild horses away from the four pursuing Navajos, but the trailers did not give up the chase.
Back of the dust cloud Yellow Man rode beside his three sons. Their faces were expressionless; only their black eyes showed the eager excitement that filled them. They did not try to make their gaunt ponies overtake the thundering band but were content to keep a steady pace. The trail left by the wild horses was broad and easy to follow.
Lady Ebony ran ahead of the band, keeping well out in front without effort. She was not badly frightened and the wild panic of the other horses had not gripped her. But she raced along just the same, enjoying the surging flight which gave full play to her powerful muscles. The big chestnut charged in and turned the band up the ridge. As they swept over the top of the rocky hill they saw the Indians galloping along the canyon bed below.
Yellow Man shifted his seat on the bare back of his pinto. His black eyes were following the flight of the black mare, and there was a fierce eagerness in them. The chestnut leader was doing just what he wanted him to do. The big fellow was swinging his band into a wide circle, a curve which would carry them back into the country they had just left.
The band thundered down off the ridge and headed up a sand wash. The drag of the sand and the uphill going slowed them but they kept pounding along, the stallion saw to that. He stayed behind and used his teeth savagely on the rumps of the laggards.