The sheriff nodded his head. He turned to Sam. “Now get what you want. We’re going. I’ll go into the cabin with you just to make sure you don’t try anything else.” “I don’t reckon I need anything,” Sam answered. 4. Desert Winter Life for the wild horses in the desert was a never-ending battle for food, for protection, and for the chance to slip through the gray dawn to a water hole where eager muzzles could be thrust into murky, yellow water. The chestnut stallion was a hard but wise leader. He knew that man controlled the best of the grazing lands, that mounted riders patrolled the foothills and the deep valleys back against the mountains. He had only savage disdain for the geldings and mares who submitted to man’s saddle and steel bit. No patriot ever cherished his freedom more than the chestnut stallion. In the desert there were Indian hunters to be watched for. The Navajo people were not like the whites in their way of life. They were wandering nomads, following their herds, never making a home in any permanent spot. In summer they built branch-covered shelters. In the winter they crowded into log and mud hogans. They were children of the wild, untamed desert, as cunning as the gray lobo. The Navajo had strange customs. Among them the women owned the sheep, the goats, the hogan and the children. The men owned the horses, and the hunting weapons, along with the turquoise jewelry they wore. Horses to a Navajo were the same as gold to a white man, they were his measure of wealth and standing. So the Navajo men stalked the wild bands, capturing colts and mares to add to their wealth. The Navajos knew every water hole in the desert. Like the tawny cougar and the savage lobo, they knew the wild bands must drink, that sooner or later they must slip down to the water hole. So they stalked them near the water holes and swarmed after them, riding in relays, keeping the band moving, keeping them from drinking or resting. The chestnut stud considered all these things in his own way and met the problems with sharp wits, keen eyes, and keener sense of smell, keeping a constant, alert watch for enemies. He kept his band in the broken country where mesas dropped away in sheer, steep slopes to the depths of the sand washes. From the top of such a mesa the band could easily thunder down into a canyon at a moment’s warning.