Pure creamy white he was, and built like a racer.

He pranced, struck his hoofs hard and cavorted; then, taking sudden fright, he wheeled.
It was then, when the mustangs were pivoting, with the white in the lead, that Jones jumped upon the stone, fired his pistol and roared with all his strength.

Taking his cue, I did likewise.

The band huddled back again, uncertain and frightened, then broke up the canyon.
Jones jumped the ditch with surprising agility, and I followed close at his heels.

When we reached our plunging horses, he shouted: "Mount, and hold this passage.