Then the blacks began to graze.
The sorrel had wandered off down the sage between the trail and the canyon.

Once or twice he disappeared in little swales.

Finally Venters concluded Wrangle had grazed far enough, and, taking his lasso, he went to fetch him back.

In crossing from one ridge to another he saw where the horse had made muddy a pool of water.

It occurred to Venters then that Wrangle had drunk his fill, and did not seem the worse for it, and might be anything but easy to catch.