supper over, the hunters drew their chairs around the fireplace, and dick, after filling his pipe, and drawing a few puffs by way of inspiration, said:
“i believe i onct told you ’bout havin’ my hoss pulled out from under me by a grizzly bar, didn’t i? wal, i told you, too, that i ketched another, an’ i had a job to do it, too—to ketch the one i wanted; an’ the time you’ve had tryin’ to ketch that black fox reminds me of it. you know, i s’pose, that large droves of wild hosses roam all over the prairy, an’ them droves ar allers led by some splendid animal—allers a stallion—one that has got the legs to go like lightnin’, an’ the wind to keep it up. an’ he’s allers the cock o’ the walk, too—the best fighter in the drove; an’ when he moves round, it would make you laugh to see the other hosses get out of his way. he holds his place until he dies, unless some other hoss comes along an’ wallops him. then he takes his place with the common fags o’ the drove, an’ the new one is king till he gets licked, an’ so on. it ar a mighty hard thing to capture one o’ them leaders. you can ketch one o’ the others easy enough, but when it comes to lassoin’ the ‘king,’ it’s a thing that few trappers can do. jest arter my scrape with the grizzly bar, bill lawson an’ me fell in with a lot o’ fellers that war goin’ to spend a season on the saskatchewan, an’ they wanted me an’ bill to join ’em; so i bought me a hoss of an ole injun for a couple o’ plugs o’ tobacker—reg’lar jeems river it war, too—an’ we started out. my new hoss was ’bout as ugly a lookin’ thing as i ever happened to set eyes on. he war big as all out-doors, an’ you could see every bone in his body. an’ he war ugly actin’, too; an’ if a feller come within reach of his heels, the way he would kick war a caution to injuns. but i hadn’t been on the road more’n a day afore i diskivered that he could travel like a streak o’ greased lightnin’. that war jest the kind of a hoss i wanted, an’ i didn’t care ’bout his ugly looks arter that.
“for more’n three year, me an’ bill had been keepin’ an eye on a hoss that we wanted to ketch. he war the leader of a large drove. he war a sort o’ iron-gray color, with a thick, archin’ neck—a purty feller; an’ the way he could climb over the prairy was a caution to cats. we warn’t the only ones arter him, either, for a’most every trapper in the country had seed him, an’ had more’n one chase arter him. but, bars and buffaler! it war no use ’t all, for he could run away from the fastest hosses, an’ not half try; an’ many a poor feller, who straddled a hoss that every body thought couldn’t be tuckered out, had left his animal dead on the prairy, an’ found his way back to his camp on foot. we war in hopes that we should see him, for we war travelin’ right through his country; an’ i knowed that if we did find him, i would stand as good a chance o’ ketchin’ him as any one, for my ugly-lookin’ hoss was the best traveler in the crowd.
“one night we camped on a little stream, called bloody creek. we called it so from a fight that a party of us fellers had there with the injuns. about an hour arter supper, while we war all settin’ round the fire, smokin’ an’ telling stories, ole bob kelly—the oldest an’ best trapper in the country—started up off his blanket, an’, cockin’ his ear for a moment, said, ‘somebody’s comin’, boys.’ an’, sure ’nough, in a few minits up walked a stranger.
“it ar a mighty uncommon thing to meet a teetotal stranger on the prairy, an’ a man don’t know whether he is a friend or foe; but we war mighty glad to see him, and crowded round him, askin’ all sorts o’ questions; an’ one took his rifle, an’ another pulled off his powder-horn an’ bullet-pouch, an’ a big feller dragged him to the fire, where we could all get a good look at him, an’ made him drink a big cup o’ coffee.
“‘whar do you hail from, stranger?’ inquired ole bob kelly, who allers took them matters into his own hands, an’ we little fellers had to set round an’ listen.
“‘i b’long anywhere night ketches me,’ answered the stranger. ‘i’m an ole trapper in these yere parts.’
“‘whar’s your hoss?’ asked ole bob.
“‘i left him dead on the prairy—dead as a herrin’. i rid him a leetle too hard, i reckon. i war chasin’ up the black mustang.’
“if i should live to be a hundred year older ’n i’m now, an’ should live among the blackfoot injuns the hull time, i shouldn’t expect to hear another sich a yell as ’em trappers give when the stranger mentioned the black mustang. they crowded round him like a flock o’ sheep, all askin’ him questions; an’ he tried to answer ’em all to onct; an’ sich a row as there war round that camp-fire for a few minits! it war wusser nor any injun war-dance i ever seed. now, me an’ bill hadn’t never seed the black mustang, nor heerd o’ him afore, ’cause we hadn’t trapped in that part o’ the country for a’most three year, but we knowed in a minit that it must be the leader o’ some drove. but bill had lived among the injuns so much that he had got kinder used to their ways, an’ he didn’t like to see them trappers carryin’ on so, an’ actin’ like a parcel o’ young’uns jest turned loose from school; so, as soon as he could make himself heered, he yelled:
“‘what in tarnation’s the matter with you fellers? as soon as you git through hollerin’, me an’ dick would like to know what all this yere fuss is about.’
“‘why, the black mustang has been within ten mile of this yere camp to-night,’ said one of the trappers.
“‘wal, an’ what o’ that?’ said bill. ’ar the black mustang any better hoss than the gray king?’
“they all set up another yell at this, an’ one of ’em said:
“‘why, the gray ain’t nothin’ ’long side o’ the black mustang. he could run away from him in less’n two minits. i guess you hain’t hearn tell of him, have you?’
“‘in course i hain’t,’ said bill.
“‘then you ain’t no great shakes of a trapper,’ said another.
“now, the rascal knowed that war a lie, for there warn’t no trapper in the country that could lay over bill, ’cept ole bob kelly, an’ every one said as how he war the best trapper agoin’; an’ the way bill eyed the feller, made him kinder keerful of his we’pons for a day or two arterward.
“arter talking a little while, we found out the black mustang war the leader o’ the largest drove on the prairy. he had been round for ’bout a year, an’ every trapper in that part of the country had had a chase arter him; but it war like chasin’ the wind; an’ besides this, he could run all day, an’ be jest as fresh at night as when he started in the mornin’.
“‘wal,’ thinks i, ‘dick, here’s a good chance for you to try your hoss’s travelin’ qualities;’ an’ i made up my mind that i would start off an’ foller the black mustang till i ketched him, if it tuk me my lifetime.
“the next mornin’, arter breakfast, one o’ the trappers proposed that we should spend three or four days in huntin’ up the mustang, an’, in course, we all agreed to it. the stranger wanted to go, too, but we had no hoss to give him; so, arter biddin’ us all good-by, he shouldered his rifle an’ started out alone acrost the prairy. wal, we spent a week tryin’ to find that hoss, but didn’t even get a sight at him; so one mornin’ old bob kelly concluded that we had better make another strike for the saskatchewan. we packed up an’ got all ready to start, when i tuk them a good deal by surprise by tellin’ ’em that i war goin’ to stay an’ hunt up the black mustang. how they all laughed at me!
“‘laugh away, boys,’ says i, as i got on to my hoss. ‘i’ll see you on the saskatchewan in a month or so, an’ i’ll either bring the mustang with me, or he’ll be a dead hoss. if i can’t ketch him, i can shoot him, you know; an’ i won’t see you agin till i do one or the other. good-by, fellers.’ an’ i turned my hoss an’ rode away from the camp.
“wal, i rode all over them prairies for a’most six weeks, without seein’ the sign of a hoss; an’ one arternoon i stopped on the top of a high swell to take my reckonin’. i found myself on the east side o’ the black hills, an’ i knowed that my first job was to get on the other side; the mustang had prob’bly struck off toward the mountains. so i began to look around for a good place to get over. the hills rose from the prairy reg’lar bluff-like—sometimes a hundred feet high, an’ so steep that a sheep couldn’t climb up ’em. jest as it begun to grow dark, i come to a deep ravine, that seemed to run up into the hills a good way; an’ the bottom of this yere ravine was as hard an’ smooth as a floor, an’ looked as if it had been traveled over a good deal. but i war kinder tired with my day’s tramp, an’ didn’t notice it much, for i thought it war nothin’ more’n a buffaler road; so i picked out a good place an’ camped for the night.
“’arly the next mornin’ i set out agin; but as soon as i got on the road i knowed that no buffaler had made them tracks; they war mustangs, an’ there war the prints of their hoofs in the dust, plain as a bar’s ears. when i come to examine the signs, i found, as nigh as i could kalkerlate, that there war about three hundred hosses in the drove, an’ i knowed, from the looks of the tracks, that they had been along lately; so i pushed ahead as fast as my hoss could carry me, an’ that wasn’t slow, i tell you. i rid him all day at a tearin’ rate, an’ at dark he seemed as willin’ to go as when i started out. this put me in high spirits, an’ i made up my mind that if me and my hoss ever got arter that black mustang, he would have to pick up his feet mighty lively to get away from us. the next day, about noon, i war riding along at a thumpin’ rate, when all to onct i come to a place where the ravine opened into a small prairy, and scattered all over it war the wild hosses, feedin’ away as peaceably as if no one had ever thought of disturbin’ them there. i pulled up so quick that it a’most brought my hoss on his haunches; but the mustangs had seed me, an’ the way they snorted an’ galloped about war a purty thing to look at. i drawed off into the bushes as quick as i could, an’ gathered up my lasso, which i allers carried at my saddle-bow, an’ then looked toward the drove agin. the first hoss i seed was the black mustang. he war runnin’ about, tossin’ his head an’ snortin’ as though he didn’t hardly understand the matter. he war the purtiest hoss i ever sot eyes on; but i couldn’t stop to examine his pints then. then i tuk a look round the prairy, an’ saw that the hills rose on all sides of it; there was but one way the hosses could get out, an’ that war through the ravine. i war in luck for onct in my life. now, you boys, if you had been there, would, most like, run out into the prairy to onct, an’ tried to ketch him, but that would have been a reg’lar boy trick, and would have spiled it all. i knowed that i had the black hoss surrounded, but if i begun to race him round that prairy, he would dodge me, an’ be off down the ravine like a shot; so i kept still in the bushes; an’ my hoss knowed his own bisness, and stood as though he war made of rock.
“purty soon the hosses begun to get over their skeer an’ commenced comin’ toward me—the black hoss leadin’ the way. he would come a few steps, an’ then stop an’ paw the ground, an’ then come a little nearer, an’ so on, till he come within ’bout half a lasso-throw, when, all of a sudden, i give my hoss the word, an’ he jumped out o’ them bushes like a streak o’ lightnin’. it would have made you laugh to see the way them hosses put off; the black hoss, seemed to me, war on wings; but he hadn’t made three jumps afore my lasso war around his neck. the black mustang war mine!
“in about three weeks i reached the saskatchewan, an’ if you could have heard the yell them trappers give when i rode up to the camp on the mustang, it would have done your heart good. i had kept my promise.”
