He was as straggly and wild-looking as a horse left to roam free in the sage.
He dropped his long ears and stood readily to be saddled and bridled.
But he was exceedingly sensitive, and quivered at every touch and sound.
Venters led him to the thicket, and, bending the close saplings to let him squeeze through, at length reached the open.

Sharp survey in each direction assured him of the usual lonely nature of the canyon, then he was in the saddle, riding south.
Wrangle's long, swinging canter was a wonderful ground-gainer.

His stride was almost twice that of an ordinary horse; and his endurance was equally remarkable.

Venters pulled him in occasionally, and walked him up the stretches of rising ground and along the soft washes.

Wrangle had never yet shown any indication of distress while Venters rode him.
Nevertheless, there was now reason to save the horse, therefore Venters did not resort to the hurry that had characterized his former trip.
He camped at the last water in the Pass.