“It is just wonderful, Rhoda,” she told
her friend. “I shall never cease to marvel
at it.”
“It is worth getting up in the morning to see,”
agreed Rhoda, smiling. “There! See
yonder?”
The level rays of the sun touched up the edge of the
plain toward which they were headed. Here the
broken rocks of the foothills joined the lush grass
of the valley. On a boulder, outlined clearly
against the background of the hill, stood a beautiful
creature which, in the early light, seemed taller
and far more noble looking than any ordinary horse.
“Oh!” gasped Nan, “is that the outlaw?”
The distant horse stretched his neck gracefully and
blew another shrill call. He was headed toward
the herd which was now being urged into the valley
by the punchers. The horse whistled again and
again.
“What a beautiful creature!” murmured
Nan. “Oh, Rhoda! can’t we catch him?”
“That’s the fellow,” said the Western
girl. “They have been trying to rope him
for three seasons. But nobody has ever been able
to get near enough to him yet. He is not a native
horse, either.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Walter
curiously.
“You know, horses ran wild in this country when
the Spanish first came in. These were of the
mustang breed. The Indian pony—the
cayuse—was found up in Utah and Idaho.
Horse-breeders down here have bought Morgan sires
and other blooded stock to run with the mustangs.
“That fellow yonder was bought by Mr. Duranger,
an Englishman, who owned the Long Bow. The horse
got away five years ago and ran off with the wild
herd, and now he is the wildest of the bunch.
And swift!”
“What a beauty!” exclaimed Walter.
The sunlight shone full on the handsome horse.
He was black, save for his chest, forefeet, and a
star on his forehead. Those spots gleamed as
white as silver. His tail swept the ground.
His coat shone as though it had just been curried.
He stamped his hoofs upon the rock and called again
to the herd that he had trailed down from the fastnesses
of the hills.
“If we could only catch him!” murmured
Nan.
Rhoda laughed. “You want to catch that
outlaw; and Bess wants to find the Mexican treasure.
I reckon you’ll both have your work cut out
for you.”
A RAID
The branding of the horses had drawn from ranches
all about every man that could be spared. There
were upward of a hundred men, including the camp workers
and cooks, in the Rolling Spring Valley for those
three days.
And how they did work! From early morning until
dark the fires in the branding pens flamed. Roped
horses and colts were being dragged in different directions
all the time. Those already branded, and selected
for training on the several ranches, were driven away
in small bunches.
The whistling outlaw went away after a day. None
of the boys had time to try to ride him down, although
there was scarcely a man of the lot who did not covet
the beautiful creature.
