broken horse is like a woman—nervous, brain in a tea-cup, shying at a shadow. But these fellows, the herd leaders, are tough as whip-cord, smarter than a wolf and quicker than a snake. They'll get away from you through a crack in a fence.
"Last spring I got on the trail of a stallion that, I'll take my oath, was a good deal stronger, cleverer and faster than any other horse in the world. The Indians said he was sired by the North Wind. A couple of them claimed to have seen him, and their description made me very curious. I chased him over southern Nevada, saw the tail of the herd once or twice, but never the leader. But we kept them edging over westward until about the last week of last month, a hundred miles short of the state line, I thought I had him. I even got the herd into the runway and stampeded for the corral; but there must have been a weak place in the fence—I don't know now how it happened! I should have said it was impossible; but, just before the first of the corral canvas, the leader swerved and went through the stockade as if it had been paper. His mares were going too fast to stop. We took the whole of them, and he got off alone." Carron moistened his lips. "I saw him. He went close by me: black, not a blemish, star on his forehead, a white fleck on his breast, left foot white and mane like a flag. To
42
