The wild horses of the plains were descendants of the Spanish horses
that escaped from the conquistadores of the sixteenth century. Under
the favorable conditions these horses multiplied and spread from Mexico
and Texas up the great plains corridor to Canada. They went in large
herds, each led by a stallion. Now, this stallion was leader because he
was the best horse in the herd. He led by fleetness of foot, by courage
to fight, and by strength sufficient to kill or drive out every horse
that disputed his supremacy. Not only did he lead the horses, but he
actually herded them, controlled them, dominated them. By the very law
of survival he had to be unusual. Not only did he have to be strong and
fleet, but he had to be wise and wary as well, full of good horse
sense.
When settlers began to push on to the plains of the West, and to
capture and domesticate wild horses, it was quite natural for the
leaders of these herds to captivate the imagination of the vaqueros and
cowboys. The stallion leader of the herd was the object of desire of
every man of the West. Where a man was little better than the horse he
rode, he naturally desired a good horse above all else, save a saddle
to house him under. Now, the leader of the herd was not only a good
horse; he was the best horse, with all the endurance, speed and
intelligence that were so dear to the riders of the plains. These
qualities made him the object of desire of every plainsman, and the
hero among them was the man who could take the stallion leader. But to
take the leader today was not to destroy leadership. Tomorrow another
stallion would lead the herd. There was always a leader. The individual
horse might be captured, but the quality of leadership could never be
caught—it resided in the herd because it was a part of it. Now, it was
this quality of leadership that became the object of desire. But since
this quality of leadership could never be captured, the desire for it
was a desire for the unattainable, the impossible.
Out of these conditions and facts grew the legend of the White Steed of
the Prairies, that superb horse, a super-horse that had all the
desirable and unusual qualities, all the speed, all the endurance, all
the beauty that imagination could give him. Since he had all these
attributes, everybody wanted him, but nobody could take him. He was
ubiquitous, ethereal, a mere ideal, a phantom of the plainsman’s mind,
and he ranged from Canada to Mexico.
One of the best accounts of the White Steed of the Prairies, or the
Pacing White Stallion, as he was sometimes called, was given by
Kendall, [132] when writing of his experiences in Texas in 1841.
“Many were the stories,” he says, “told that night in camp, by some of
the old hunters, of a large white horse that had often been seen in the
vicinity of the Cross Timbers and near Red River. That many of these
stories, like a majority of those told by gossiping campaigners, were
either apocryphal or marvelously garnished, I have little doubt; but
that such a horse has been seen, and that he possesses wonderful speed
and great powers of endurance, there is no reason to disbelieve. As the
camp stories ran, he has never been known to gallop or trot, but paces
faster than any horse that has been sent out after him can run; and so
game and untiring is the ‘White Steed of the Prairies,’ for he is well
known to trappers and hunters by that name, that he has tired down no
less than three race-nags, sent expressly to catch him, with a Mexican
rider well trained to the business of taking wild horses. * * *
“The Mexican who was sent out to take the wild steed, although he
mounted a fresh horse as the one he was riding became tired, was never
near enough the noble animal to throw a slip-noose over his head, or
even to drive him into a regular gallop. Some of the hunters go so far
as to say that the white steed has been known to pace his mile in less
than two minutes, and that he can keep up this rate of speed until he
has tired down everything in pursuit. Large sums of money have been
offered for his capture, and the attempt has been frequently made; but
he still roams his native prairies in freedom, solitary and alone. The
fact of his being always found with no other horse in company is
accounted for, by an old hunter, on the ground that he is too proud to
be seen with those of his class, being an animal far superior in form
and action to any of his brothers. This I put down as a rank
embellishment, although it is a fact that the more beautiful and highly
formed mustangs are frequently seen alone.” [133]
Kendall’s account in the New Orleans Picayune inspired the poet to sing
of this wonderful horse. The following, by J. Barber, appeared in The
Democratic Review for April, 1843: [134]