His lasso hung at his saddle-peak.

He had not yet touched it--time enough for that.
On flew the wild horses, and closer followed the daring hunter, until miles of the prairie lay between him and the starting-point.

In a few minutes he was no longer visible to those he had left behind.
But the small Andalusian steeds were no match for the Godolphin Arab.
The herd had changed its shape.

The horses no longer ran in a body, but in a long string--each taking place according to his speed--and far in advance of all, like a meteor, glanced the snow-white leader.
The hindmost were soon passed--each swerving off from the track, as soon as he saw himself headed by the great dark horse that carried the strange and dreaded object upon his back.

One by one they were passed, until Black Hawk had forged ahead of the whole drove; and his rider now saw nothing before him but the white steed, the green prairie, and the blue sky.