occasional
ranches where feed could be obtained. We planned to start with four
horses, taking on others as we needed them. And for one week we
scrutinized the ponies swarming around the corrals, in an attempt to
find two packhorses that would not give out on the trail, or buck
their packs off at the start.

"We do not intend to be bothered with a lot of mean broncos," I said,
and would not permit myself to be deceived. Before many days had
passed, we had acquired the reputation of men who thoroughly knew
what they wanted. At least, it became known that we would not buy
wild cayuses at an exorbitant price.

All the week long we saw men starting out with sore-backed or blind
or weak or mean broncos, and heard many stories of their troubles and
trials. The trail was said to be littered for fifty miles with all
kinds of supplies.

One evening, as I stood on the porch of the hotel, I saw a man riding
a spirited dapple-gray horse up the street. As I watched the splendid
fling of his fore-feet, the proud carriage of his head, the splendid
nostrils, the deep intelligent eyes, I said: "There is my horse! I
wonder if he is for sale."

A bystander remarked, "He's coming to see you, and you can have the
horse if you want it."

The rider drew rein, and I went out to meet him. After looking the
horse all over, with a subtle show of not being in haste, I asked,
"How much will you take for him?"

"Fifty dollars," he replied, and I knew by the tone of his voice that
he would not take less.

I hemmed and hawed a decent interval, examining every limb meanwhile;
finally I said, "Get off your horse."

With a certain sadness the man complied. I placed in his hand a
fifty-dollar bill, and took the horse by the bridle. "What is his
name?"

"I call him Prince."

"He shall be called Prince Ladrone," I said to Burton, as I led the
horse away.

Each moment increased my joy and pride in my dapple-gray gelding. I
could scarcely convince myself of my good fortune, and concluded
there must be something the matter with the horse. I was afraid of
some trick, some meanness, for almost all mountain horses are
"streaky," but I could discover nothing. He was quick on his feet as
a cat, listened to every word that was spoken to him, and obeyed as
instantly and as cheerfully as a dog. He took up his feet at request,
he stood over in the stall at a touch, and took the bit readily (a
severe test). In every way he seemed to be exactly the horse