The Last of the Plainsmen 



echoed from wall to wall. High the White Mus 

 tang reared, and above the roar whistled his snort 

 of furious terror. His band wheeled with him and 

 charged back, their hoofs ringing like hammers on 

 iron. 



The crafty old buffalo-hunter had hemmed the 

 mustangs in a circle and had left himself free in 

 the center. It was a wily trick, born of his quick 

 mind and experienced eye. 



The stallion, closely crowded by his followers, 

 moved swiftly. I saw that he must pass near the 

 stone. Thundering, crashing, the horses came on. 

 Away beyond them I saw Frank and Wallace. Then 

 Jones yelled to me : u Open up ! open up ! &quot; 



I turned Satan into the middle of the narrow pas 

 sage, screaming at the top of my voice and discharg 

 ing my revolver rapidly. 



But the wild horses thundered on. Jor^s saw 

 that they would not now be balked, and he spurred 

 his bay directly in their path. The big horse, coura 

 geous as his intrepid master, dove forward. 



Then followed confusion for me. The pound of 

 hoofs, the snorts, a screaming neigh that was fright 

 ful, the mad stampede of the mustangs with a whir 

 ling 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 



118 



