There were two hundred mustangs or more being driven that day upon the nooses concealed in the grass along the little stream where the mustangers had their camp; and Buffalo Bill and his friends, sitting their horses near by, watched with interest the work of the capture of these wild horses. When a mustang was captured, a short chain was affixed to one foreleg, and he was then released. He could not run; when he tried it he invariably stepped on the chain with one of his hind feet and either threw himself or gave himself such a wrench that he soon gave up trying. Besides, the mustangs were now too tired to make much effort to get away. When all had been captured they were to be driven into a high-fenced corral, and left to recuperate; after which there would be exciting times in “breaking” them, when such stunts of wild riding and bucking would be seen as could probably be witnessed nowhere else. Twenty or thirty of the mustangs that were being crowded upon the hidden nooses broke away, and made a dash to escape. Buffalo Bill and his companions were near the point where they broke out, and started in pursuit of them. One of them, a handsome fellow, separated from the others; Pawnee Bill, whirling his lariat, started in chase. The lariat flew out, and its noose circled the head of the mustang. But the horse ridden by Pawnee Bill set its foot in a dog hole, and fell, throwing the dead shot to the ground. At the same instant, the jerk on the lariat tore it from the saddle. As it flew out it became wrapped round the body of the fallen rider, dragging him across the plain. Buffalo Bill shouted, and rode to the help of his friend, driving his horse at its highest speed. Pawnee Bill, caught in the lariat and dragged by the frightened mustang, would have been dragged to his death if Buffalo Bill had not ridden quickly to his rescue. Leaning from his saddle, Buffalo Bill slashed the rope with his knife; and the mustang raced on, leaving Pawnee Bill on the ground, somewhat crestfallen and bruised, but practically unhurt. He sprang up, and ran to get his horse, which had got its foot out of the dog hole, and seemed to be uninjured. “Cody, yours forever!” he shouted. “I’ll come to your aid likewise and also whenever you get into trouble like that.” Then he was in the saddle, chasing the running mustang, which was dragging the severed end of the rope. He succeeded in riding around it, and drove it back toward the herd, where Buffalo Bill noosed it, and it was subdued. “Great work, Cody!” called Black John, the leader of the mustangers. “That is your mustang, if you want him.” “I’ll make you a present of him, so far as my interest goes,” said Buffalo Bill. “It seems a pity, though, that such a fine fellow has to be subdued and turned into a work animal.”