He espied Wrangle at the
lower end of the cove and approached him in a perfectly natural
manner. When he got near enough, Wrangle evidently recognized
him, but was too wild to stand. He ran up the glade and on into
the narrow lane between the walls. This favored Venters's speedy
capture of the horse, so, coiling his noose ready to throw, he
hurried on. Wrangle let Venters get to within a hundred feet and
then he broke. But as he plunged by, rapidly getting into his
stride, Venters made a perfect throw with the rope. He had time
to brace himself for the shock; nevertheless, Wrangle threw him
and dragged him several yards before halting.
"You wild devil," said Venters, as he slowly pulled Wrangle up.
"Don't you know me? Come now--old fellow--so--so--"
Wrangle yielded to the lasso and then to Venters's strong hand.
He was as straggly and wild-looking as a horse left to roam free
in the sage. He dropped his long ears and stood readily to be
saddled and bridled. But he was exceedingly sensitive, and
quivered at every touch and sound. Venters led him to the
thicket, and, bending the close saplings to let him squeeze
through, at length reached the open. Sharp survey in each
direction assured him of the usual lonely nature of the canyon,
then he was in the saddle, riding south.
Wrangle's long, swinging canter was a wonderful ground-gainer.
His stride was almost twice that of an ordinary horse; and his
endurance was equally remarkable.
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