of hoofs, the snorts, a
screaming neigh that was frightful, the mad stampede of the mustangs
with a whirling cloud of dust, bewildered and frightened me so that I
lost sight of Jones. Danger threatened and passed me almost before I
was aware of it. Out of the dust a mass of tossing manes, foam-flecked
black horses, wild eyes and lifting hoofs rushed at me. Satan, with a
presence of mind that shamed mine, leaped back and hugged the wall. My
eyes were blinded by dust; the smell of dust choked me. I felt a strong
rush of wind and a mustang grazed my stirrup. Then they had passed, on
the wings of the dust-laden breeze.

But not all, for I saw that Jones had, in some inexplicable manner, cut
the White Mustang and two of his blacks out of the band. He had turned
them back again and was pursuing them. The bay he rode had never before
appeared to much advantage, and now, with his long, lean, powerful body
in splendid action, imbued with the relentless will of his rider, what
a picture he presented! How he did run! With all that, the White
Mustang made him look dingy and slow. Nevertheless, it was a critical
time in the wild career of that king of horses. He had been penned in a
space two hundred by five hundred yards, half of which was separated
from him by a wide ditch, a yawning chasm that he had refused, and
behind him, always keeping on the inside, wheeled the yelling hunter,
who savagely spurred his bay and whirled a deadly lasso. He had been
cut off and surrounded; the very nature of the rocks and trails of the
canyon threatened to end his freedom or his life. Certain it was he
preferred to end the latter, for he risked death from the rocks as he
went over them in long leaps.

Jones could have roped either of the two blacks, but he hardly noticed
them. Covered with dust and splotches of foam, they took their
advantage, turned on the circle toward the passage way and galloped by
me out of sight. Again Wallace, Frank and Jim let out strings of yells
and volleys. The chase was narrowing down. Trapped, the White Mustang
King had no chance. What a grand spirit he showed! Frenzied as I was
with excitement, the thought occurred to me that this was an unfair
battle, that I ought to stand aside and let him pass. But the blood and
lust of primitive instinct held me fast. Jones, keeping back, met his
every turn. Yet always with lithe and beautiful stride the stallion
kept out of reach of the whirling lariat.

"Close in!" yelled