Presently successive yells and shots from our comrades blended in a roar which the narrow box-canyon augmented and echoed from wall to wall.

High the White Mustang reared, and above the roar whistled his snort of furious terror.

His band wheeled with him and charged back, their hoofs ringing like hammers on iron.
The crafty old buffalo-hunter had hemmed the mustangs in a circle and had left himself free in the center.

It was a wily trick, born of his quick mind and experienced eye.
The stallion, closely crowded by his followers, moved swiftly I saw that he must pass near the stone.

Thundering, crashing, the horses came on.