An', son, enjoy yourself." True to his first impression, Jean named the black horse Whiteface and fell in love with him before ever he swung a leg over him.

Whiteface appeared spirited, yet gentle.

He had been trained instead of being broken.

Of hard hits and quirts and spurs he had no experience.

He liked to do what his rider wanted him to do.
A hundred or more horses grazed in the grassy meadow, and as Jean rode on among them it was a pleasure to see stallions throw heads and ears up and whistle or snort.