I got up out of the long grass in a towering passion.  One of the negroes who was nearest to me came galloping to my assistance, and begged me to let the beast run for a while, and that when Anthony, the huntsman, came, he would soon catch him.  I was too angry to listen to reason, and I ordered him to get off his horse, and let me mount.  The black begged and prayed of me not to ride after the brute; and Mr Neal, who was some distance off, shouted to me, as loud as he could, for Heaven’s sake, to stop—­that I did not know what it was to chase a wild horse in a Texian prairie, and that I must not fancy myself in the meadows of Louisiana or Florida.  I paid no attention to all this—­I was in too great a rage at the trick the beast had played me, and, jumping on the negro’s horse, I galloped away like mad.

My rebellious steed was grazing quietly with his companions, and he allowed me to come within a couple of hundred paces of him; but just as I had prepared the lasso, which was fastened to the negro’s saddle-bow, he gave a start, and galloped off some distance further, I after him.  Again he made a pause, and munched a mouthful of grass—­then off again for another half mile.  This time I had great hopes of catching him, for he let me come within a hundred yards; but, just as I was creeping up to him, away he went with one of his shrill neighs.  When I galloped fast he went faster, when I rode slowly he slackened pace.  At least ten times did he let me approach him within a couple of hundred yards, without for that being a bit nearer getting hold of him.  It was certainly high time to desist from such a mad chase, but I never dreamed of doing so; and indeed the longer it lasted, the more obstinate I got.  I rode on after the beast, who kept letting me come nearer and nearer, and then darted off again with his loud-laughing neigh.  It was this infernal neigh that made me so savage—­there was something so spiteful and triumphant in it, as though the animal knew he was making a fool of me, and exulted in so doing.  At last, however, I got so sick of my horse-hunt that I determined to make a last trial, and, if that failed, to turn back.  The runaway had stopped near one of the islands of trees, and was grazing quite close to its edge.  I thought that if I were to creep round to the other side of the island, and then steal across it, through the trees, I should be able to throw the lasso over his head, or, at any rate, to drive him back to the house.  This plan I put in execution—­rode round the island, then through it, lasso in hand, and as softly as if I had been riding over eggs.  To my consternation, however, on arriving at the edge of the trees, and at the exact spot where, only a few minutes before, I had seen the mustang grazing, no signs of him were to be perceived.  I made the circuit of the island, but in vain—­the animal had disappeared.  With a hearty curse, I put spurs to my horse, and started off to ride back to the plantation.