As he galloped, his nostrils appeared open and red, his eyes stood prominently forth, his mane was tossed on both sides of his neck from his crest to his withers, and his long tail streamed horizontally behind him.

His free, graceful movements--like that of all his followers--showed that no saddle had ever been laid across his back.
As Basil gazed upon this noble creature, he became imbued with an irresistible desire to possess him.

It is true he already had a horse, and as fine a one as ever wore saddle; but it was Basil's weakness to covet every fine horse he saw; and this one had inspired him with a most particular longing to become his owner.

In a few seconds' time, so eager had grown this desire, that Basil felt as if he would have given all he had in the world--Black Hawk, perhaps, excepted--to be the master of this prairie steed.

Throwing a lasso, as Basil could, and mounted as he was, it would strike you that he might soon have gratified his wish; but it was not so easy a thing, and Basil knew that.