The Last of the Plainsmen 



I followed his advice, and detected the rhythmic 

 beat of galloping horses. 



The mustangs are coming, sure as you re born ! &quot; 

 exclaimed Jones. 



&quot;There! See the cloud of dust!&quot; cried he a 

 minute later. 



In the first bend of the canon below, a splintered 

 ruin of rock now lay under a rolling cloud of dust. 

 A white flash appeared, a line of bobbing black 

 objects, and more dust; then with a sharp pounding 

 of hoofs, into clear vision shot a dense black band 

 of mustangs, and well in front swung the White 

 King. 



u Look! Look! I never saw the beat of that 

 never in my born days! &quot; cried Jones. &quot; How they 

 move ! yet that white fellow isn t half-stretched out. 

 Get your picture before they pass. You ll never see 

 the beat of that. 5 



With long manes and tails flying, the mustangs 

 came on apace and passed us in a trampling roar, 

 the white stallion in the front. Suddenly a shrill, 

 whistling blast, unlike any sound I had ever heard, 

 made the canon fairly ring. The white stallion 

 plunged back, and his band closed in behind him. 

 He had seen our saddle horses. Then trembling, 

 whinnying, and with arched neck and high-poised 



head, bespeaking his mettle, he advanced a few paces, 



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