behind the wagon. Cole Hunter and Mack talked for a time and a trade was made. Mack said that he would trade Mustang for the tough broncho because the broncho could stand travel and Mustang couldn’t as he was too young. Cole was clever. He knew the broncho could not be made to pull the wagon. He had tried him. The animal would try to kick everything to pieces, then he would lie down. Mustang could, at least, be no worse. So the trade was made. The saddle was put on the broncho. The Mexican mounted and, after the usual spell of bucking, the broncho galloped away at a fast pace. With a wave of his hand, Mack, who was the cause of all Mustang’s trouble, rode away toward the border.
Cole Hunter did not intend to be cruel to his horses. He was simply, as he thought, practical. He let the poorest of his old horses loose, and, with Mustang tied to the wagon, he put the harness on him. Mustang was very tired and hungry after his long journey and could not fight as he would have done if he had been rested. Even so it took the man, who was skilled with horses, some time to get Mustang hitched up with the old horse, but this was finally done. While Cole did not want to be cruel he did want to get to his distant destination. It seemed to him that Mustang, being in good flesh, should pull most of the load and, accordingly, Cole put what was known as a stay-chain on the double-tree behind Mustang. In this way the old horse could, if the driver allowed him, lag back a little and Mustang would have to pull the whole load. This was a common practice in these days, to put a strong horse with a small one or with an old, weak horse. Fortunately this was a light wagon with only a small load in it.
When Cole was ready he got up in the seat of the wagon and shouted, “Giddap!” The old horse understood. He started forward. But to Mustang this was all new. Mustang stood still. But when he felt a whip touch him he jumped forward. He then tried to run away, but no matter how much he leaped and plunged he found all those straps and chains still stayed on him, and no matter how much he tried to pull the wagon faster it only seemed to get heavier and harder to pull. Mustang didn’t know that when he tried to plunge and run he was then pulling the whole wagon by himself. He could not understand anything about all this. But after he fought in this way for some time he was so tired he became quiet and simply walked along beside the old, skinny horse. In fact, Mustang realized for the first time that the horse was beside him, and when he looked at the old bony horse walking slowly along, Mustang felt a little better. He tried to put his nose over to the horse to be friendly but the horse only opened his eyes a little and just went plodding along as if he were half asleep. This skinny horse was very old, almost twenty years of age. All his life he had pulled a wagon and nothing interested him any more except rest. He wanted only to eat grass and rest and sleep—nothing more. Mustang couldn’t understand this. When he saw how the old horse acted, Mustang again stepped along, pulling the load, his head up, his eyes open wide, looking for something to happen so that he could get away from this thing. If he could have talked like the cowboys he would have called it “an awful mess,” for that’s what it was to him.
After a time Mustang was covered with sweat and he wanted a drink of water. The old horse had been allowed to drink at a little stream near the camp, but Cole Hunter thought Mustang would tame down quicker if he got weak from lack of water. When he got Mustang well in hand he would let him have water and grass. If Cole had known all that Mustang had in him he would have taken better care of him so that some day he could have got a big price for him, but fortunately for Mustang, Cole did not know this. He merely looked on Mustang as just another horse who was young, maybe worth a little more than the average, but that was all.
The time dragged until late forenoon. Finally Cole stopped and let both horses drink at a small pond. Then he let them rest for two hours. The old horse was let loose to graze. Mustang was tied with a stout rope and allowed to eat grass. But before Cole unhitched him he tied a short rope on Mustang’s front feet and in this way hobbled him. Mustang could now graze at the end of the long rope tied around his neck and if he broke it he still would be hobbled so that he could be caught. But Mustang did not try to get away. He ate grass as fast as possible and when Cole at last hitched him to the wagon Mustang felt much refreshed. He tried to jump about and get free but his two front feet were tied so closely together that Cole managed him and he was again hitched up to the wagon beside the old horse. Cole then took the hobble from his feet and again at the word “Giddap!” the old horse started forward. Mustang lunged back once but felt the whip, then he lunged forward and again he stepped along, pulling nearly all of the load because of the stay-chain fixed to the doubletree behind him.
As Mustang plodded along through the long afternoon he became very tired, and Cole Hunter began to see that he was not likely to reach the western town he was heading for unless he could meet another traveler and trade the old horse for one who at least had strength to pull a little and so help Mustang.
Mustang walked slowly along the wagon trail on the level prairie, looking ahead for some sign that might tell him he would get out of this situation. But mile after mile it seemed the same. As he plodded along he was startled a little when a great flock of prairie chickens flew up ahead of him, and for a moment their light-colored breasts shone like a great bright flower against the blue of the sky. Mustang saw the birds fly away in their freedom. Two antelopes with their short tails stood off, well out of rifle range, and looked at Mustang pulling the wagon. Then they, too, in their joy of freedom raced away like a streak across the plain.
Presently the trail led near a narrow, shallow stream with green fringes of willows on either side. The afternoon sun shone very warm as Mustang pulled the wagon behind him. He was thirsty, and he wanted a drink so much that he licked his lips time after time. But Cole sat on the wagon seat smoking his pipe and paid no attention to Mustang except to see that he kept moving. At one point the trail turned out in a wide detour away from the stream, and still the wagon rolled along on the level plain.
Mustang saw ahead of him on the trail a crow walking about contentedly while its black wings glistened in the sunlight. At the near approach of the wagon the crow flew away and alighted on a small tree where it looked at the slow-moving wagon going by.
Farther on the wagon trail led between a range of steep hills and a shallow stream. Mustang, toiling along the road, was suddenly aroused when, close to the trail, he saw something on a big flat rock. Mustang stopped, snorted and looked at the hideous thing on the rock. Cole looked and he saw it also. It was an enormous rattlesnake. The rattler lay on the flat rock with its head raised up from its coils. The old horse was on the side nearest the rock and could have been bitten if he had not stopped. He had only strength enough to snort a little and look at the big snake. Cole took a rifle from behind the seat and, taking careful aim, he shot the rattler through the head and so ended it. Mustang snorted and tried to run when he saw the flopping of the big rattler. The scare put a little life in him and he walked on with more energy for a time, but his new exertion did not last and he began again to lick his lips for want of water.
A mile farther and Mustang saw that the trail led down to the stream. This was a shallow ford in the small river where wagons crossed and here Mustang and the old horse were allowed to put their heads down and drink while they stood in the water that reached to their knees. It seemed to Mustang that he would never get enough water. He drank in great, quick draughts, filling himself as fast as he could, but Cole, watching him, presently pulled on the lines and compelled Mustang to lift his head. He took a long breath and did not feel as thirsty as when his head was down at the water. Experienced horsemen understood this. A horse that was famished for water on a hot day might easily drink too much, and if he was made to lift his head up and look around for a time he would not drink so much. Cole shouted at both horses and they moved on across the stream. Mustang, now refreshed from the water, pulled doggedly on, but he felt a growing weariness because he needed food.
They had gone no great distance from the river when a covered wagon appeared, coming from the opposite direction. The wagon came slowly on and the teams met. This traveler, a tall, slim man, was driving a mule and a horse. Both the horse and the mule were in fairly good flesh but it was seen by Mustang’s driver that
