have no protection, except to run away as fast as
they can. A thunder storm, or a very high wind, fills them with terror,
and away they go at furious speed through the grass, and, at last,
disappear in a cloud of dust on the horizon.

The wild horse can run away from a man; but this protection fails at
times. The horse-catchers--or "vaqueros," as they are called--are famous
riders, and to see them capture a wild mustang is better than to go to a
circus. The vaquero puts a Spanish saddle on a tame horse, and starts out
to see what he can find. In front, on the high pommel of the saddle, he
hangs in large coils a leather rope, about a hundred feet long, and called
a lasso. It is made of strips of raw hide, braided by hand into a smooth,
hard and very pretty rope. One end is secured to the saddle, and the other
end has a slip-knot making a sliding noose.

[Illustration: CAPTURING A WILD MUSTANG.]

The vaquero has not long to wait, for there are droves of horses cantering
or walking about over the swells and hollows of the prairie, with here
and there a smaller group looking on, or watching a battle between two
horses who wish to be captains of their bands or companies. Presently,
there is a strange sound of tramping hoofs, like the sound of a squadron
of cavalry, except that it has a grand, wild rush and swing such as no
cavalry ever had, and a cloud of dark heads rises over a swell of the
land. The leader sees the vaquero, and he halts suddenly, and the others
pull up in a confused crowd, and toss their heads, and sniff the air, as
if they scented danger near. The leader does not like the looks of things,
and turns and slowly canters away, followed by all the rest, tramping in
confusion through the yellow grass and wild barley. Presently they become
frightened, and away they fly in a dusty throng.

The vaquero's horse seems to think his chance has come, and he pricks up
his ears, and is eager for the glorious fun of a dash after the mustangs.
Away they go pell-mell, in a panic, and the tame horse galloping swiftly
after them. Down they tumble--some knocked over in the confusion, snorting
and flinging great flecks of foam from their dilated nostrils, trampling
over each other in mad haste, each for himself, and the American horse
sweeping after them. Now the vaquero stands up in his saddle, and the
lasso swings round and round in a circle over his head. Swish! It sings
through the air with a whirring sound, and opens ou