The great white stallion raised his head a little higher.  It may be that he caught a glimpse of the tawny form and yellow, hungry eyes amid the foliage of the bough, or it may be that a sudden flaw in the wind brought to his nostrils the pungent odor of the big cat.  He reared and stamped, the startled colt turned away, and the cougar, afraid that he was about to lose his chance, sprang.

A yellow compact mass, bristling with sharp, white teeth and long, hooked claws shot through the air, but the distance was too great.  The colt had turned just in time, and the cougar fell short.  He gathered himself instantly for another spring, but quick as he was, he was not quick enough.

The boys heard a fierce neigh, and the great stallion, wild with rage, launched himself upon the cougar.  Agile and powerful though the great cat was, the sharp hoofs trampled him down.  Taken at a disadvantage, just at the moment when his first spring had spent itself, he was no match for the protector of the herd.  No bone could resist the impact of those heavy terrible hoofs.  No skull was thick enough to save.  The cougar squealed, clawed, and bit wildly, but in an incredibly quick space he was trampled to death and lay quite still.  The boys believed that every bone in him must have been broken.

The herd had run some distance away in fright at the cougar’s leap, but while the swift combat lasted it stood looking on.  Now the stallion, after a last look at the slain robber, turned and walked away in triumph to the herd that he had protected so well.  It seemed to the glorified fancy of the boys that he held his head higher than ever, and that his great mane and tail flowed away in new ripples.  He stalked proudly at the head of the herd down to the other side of the prairie, where they went placidly on with their grazing.

“That is certainly one thing that turned out right,” said Paul in a gratified tone.

“The hoofs of a powerful and enraged wild stallion are a terrible thing,” said Henry.  “Even a deer, which is far smaller, can kill a man with its hoofs.  But if you’ll look again, Paul, you’ll see that a new danger threatens our king of horses.”

Paul followed Henry’s gaze, and he distinctly saw two or three human figures at the edge of the wood.  These figures were hidden from the horses by a swell of the prairies, and, as in the case of the cougar, the wind blew their odor away.  “Indians?” asked Paul.

“I can’t tell at this distance,” replied Henry, “but it’s more likely that they belong to the party of Alvarez, and perhaps they know that wild horses frequent this prairie and others hereabouts.  See what they are doing!”

Paul saw well enough, One man carrying on his arm a coll of rope, the lariat of Mexico, lay down in the long grass which completely hid him, but both Henry and Paul knew that he was creeping forward inch by inch toward the beautiful stallion that was grazing not ten yards from the woods.