The White Mustang 



between it and the wall was good level ground; on 

 the other side huge rocks and shale made it hum- 

 mocky, practically impassable for a horse. It was 

 plain the mustangs, on their way up, would choose 

 the inside of the wash; and here in the middle of the 

 passage, just round the jutting corner, Jones tied our 

 horses to good, strong bushes. His next act was 

 significant. He threw out his lasso and, dragging 

 every crook out of it, carefully recoiled it, and hung 

 it loose over the pommel of his saddle. 



&quot; The White Mustang may be yours before dark,&quot; 

 he said with the smile that came so seldom. &quot; Now 

 I placed our horses there for two reasons. The mus 

 tangs won t see them till they re right on them. Then 

 you ll see a sight and have a chance for a great pic 

 ture. They will halt; the stallion will prance, whistle 

 and snort for a fight, and then they ll see the saddles 

 and be off. We ll hide across the wash, down a little 

 way, and at the right time we ll shout and yell to 

 drive them up.&quot; 



By piling sagebrush round a stone, we made a 

 hiding-place. Jones was extremely cautious to 

 arrange the bunches in natural positions. &quot; A Rocky 

 Mountain Big Horn is the only four-footed beast,&quot; 

 he said, &quot; that has a better eye than a wild horse. 

 A cougar has an eye, too ; he s used to lying high up 

 on the cliffs and looking down for his quarry so as to 



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