The Cavalry Horse
It was 1895 in South Dakota and the annual cavalry round up had begun.
I loved cavalry round ups, watching all different horses coming and going, Thoroughbreds an Quarter horses were the most seen, but the main attraction was the Wild Mustangs.
Every year wranglers would go out and catch the best Mustangs they could find and sell them to the cavalry, sometimes they took them direct to the forts and camps but mostly they were brought here, the cavalry would have their pick and the rest would be auctioned.
As I went over to see the wild horses, I could see the meat man skulking, writing down the numbers of horses he didn't expect to sell today. I made my way over to the large pen; it was filled with probably about 100 horses from all over the plains and mountains of South and North Dakota.
Suddenly something caught my eye and my stomach dropped as I saw a group of huddled up Mustangs who were sweaty and wild eyed, pressed up against the rails of the pen, they were from the wild herd I tracked in the western mountain.
I'd been tracking the herd for 5 years now, ever since I went into a bar where the soldiers drink where I'd sat on a table next to a group of such men. One who was eagerly recounting a tale to his fellow men, a story about a wild stallion, an Indian boy and their fight for freedom.