T 



The Pacing Mustang 



one was a little loose ; he pushed and pried it 

 with the spade, and got it off. Buffalo chips 

 and kindred fuel were plentiful about the plain, 

 so a fire was quickly made, and he soon had one 

 arm of the horse-shoe red hot, then holding the 

 other wrapped in his sock he rudely sketched 

 on the left shoulder of the helpless mustang a 

 turkeytrack, his brand, the first time really 

 that it had ever been used. The Pacer shud- 

 dered as the hot iron seared his flesh, but it was 

 quickly done, and the famous Mustang Stallion 

 was a maverick no more. 



Now all there was to do was to take him 

 home. The ropes were loosed, the Mustang 

 felt himself freed, thought he was free, and 

 sprang to his feet only to fall as soon as he 

 tried to take a stride. His forefeet were strong- 

 ly tied together, his only possible gait a shuf- 

 fling walk, or else a desperate labored bounding 

 with feet so unnaturally held that within a few 

 yards he was inevitably thrown each time he 

 tried to break away. Tom on the light pony 

 headed him off again and again, and by dint oi 

 driving, threatening, and manoeuvring, con- 

 trived to force his foaming, crazy captive north- 



268 



