Their horses, full of little
exuberant outbursts of horse-foolishness when they had left town, settled
clown to a dogged, plodding half walk, half trot which is variously described
upon the range; Luck, for instance, calling it poco-poco; while the Happy
Family termed it running-walk, trail-trot, fox-trot--whatever came easiest to
their tongues at the time. Call it what they pleased, the horses came to a
point where they took the gait mechanically whenever the country was decently
level. They forgot to shy at strange objects, and they never danced away from
a foot lifted to the stirrup when the sky was flaunting gorgeous bantiers to
herald the coming of the sun. More than once they were thankful to have the
dust washed from their nostrils and to let that pass for a drink. For water
holes were few and far between when they struck that wide, barren land ridged
here and there with hills of rock.
Twice the trail of the six horses was lost, because herds of cattle had passed
between those who rode in baste before, and those who followed in haste a
day's ride behind. They saw riders in the distance nearly every day, but only
occasionally did any Indians come within speaking distance.
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