It was December, 1893. I was new in the country, and was setting out
from the ranch-house on the Pinavetitos, to go with a wagon to the
Canadian River. As I was leaving, Foster finished his remark by: "And if
you get a chance to draw a bead on that accursed mustang, don't fail to
drop him in his tracks."
This was the first I had heard of him, and as I rode along I gathered
from Burns, my guide, the history that has been given. I was full
of curiosity to see the famous three-year-old, and was not a little
disappointed on the second day when we came to the prairie on Antelope
Springs and saw no sign of the Pacer or his band.
But on the next day, as we crossed the Alamosa Arroyo, and were rising
to the rolling prairie again, Jack Burns, who was riding on ahead,
suddenly dropped flat on the neck of his horse, and swung back to me in
the wagon, saying:
"Get out your rifle, here's that--stallion."
I seized my rifle, and hurried forward to a view over the prairie ridge.
In the hollow below was a band of horses, and there at one end was the
Great Black Mustang. He had heard some sound of our approach, and was
not unsuspicious of danger. There he stood with head and tail erect,
and nostrils wide, an image of horse perfection and beauty, as noble an
animal as ever ranged the plains, and the mere notion of turning that
magnificent creature into a mass of carrion was horrible. In spite
of Jack's exhortation to 'shoot quick,' I delayed, and threw open
the breach, whereupon he, always hot and hasty, swore at my slowness,
growled, 'Gi' me that gun,' and as he seized it I turned the muzzle up,
and accidentally the gun went off.
Instantly the herd below was all alarm, the great black leader snorted
and neighed and dashed about. And the mares bunched, and away all went
in a rumble of hoofs, and a cloud of dust.
The Stallion careered now on this side, now on that, and kept his eye on
all and led and drove them far away. As long as I could see I watched,
and never once did he break his pace.
Jack made Western remarks about me and my gun, as well as that mustang,
but I rejoiced in the Pacer's strength and beauty, and not for all the
mares in the bunch would I have harmed his glossy hide.