starves unless he can find just those kinds, is an abomination. He
must not jump when you throw all kinds of rattling and terrifying
tarpaulins across him, and he must not mind if the pack-ropes fall
about his heels. In the day's march he must follow like a dog without
the necessity of a lead-rope, nor must he stray far when turned loose
at night.

Fortunately, when removed from the reassuring environment of
civilization, horses are gregarious. They hate to be separated from the
bunch to which they are accustomed. Occasionally one of us would stop
on the trail, for some reason or another, thus dropping behind the
pack-train. Instantly the saddle-horse so detained would begin to grow
uneasy. Bullet used by all means in his power to try to induce me to
proceed. He would nibble me with his lips, paw the ground, dance in a
circle, and finally sidle up to me in the position of being mounted,
than which he could think of no stronger hint. Then when I had finally
remounted, it was hard to hold him in. He would whinny frantically,
scramble with enthusiasm up trails steep enough to draw a protest at
ordinary times, and rejoin his companions with every symptom of
gratification and delight. This gregariousness and alarm at being left
alone in a strange country tends to hold them together at night. You
are reasonably certain that in the morning, having found one, you will
come upon the rest not far away.

The personnel of our own outfit we found most interesting. Although
collected from divergent localities they soon became acquainted. In a
crowded corral they were always compact in their organization, sticking
close together, and resisting as a solid phalanx encroachments on their
feed by other and stranger horses. Their internal organization was
very amusing. A certain segregation soon took place. Some became
leaders; others by common consent were relegated to the position of
subordinates.

The order of precedence on the trail was rigidly preserved by the
pack-horses. An attempt by Buckshot to pass Dinkey, for example, the
latter always met with a bite or a kick by way of hint. If the gelding
still persisted, and tried to pass by a long detour, the mare would
rush out at him angrily, her ears back, her eyes flashing, her neck
extended. And since Buckshot was by no means inclined always to give
in meekly, we had opportunities for plenty of amusement. The two were
always skirmishing. When by a strategic short