to slip as well, I suddenly broke into a tremendous gallop along the ridge. Unprepared, the riders kicked their horses so hard, that they snapped awake instantly and thought there was a cougar on their back. Two of them threw their mounts to the ground, whilst the other one (by observation the leader of the group) gave chase to me.

I took my earliest chance and leapt off the shelf, almost knocking straight into the other horse. Away I sped, the fog starting to seep into view again. This time I stayed on level ground, and took the hunt into some woodland nearby. Somehow, the other two had managed to catch us up, I became desperate, weaving between the trees and changing my heading every few seconds. I thought they had me cornered for a moment, and so did they, but by some force of will from deep within me, I tackled a seven foot jump over a fallen trunk. By some miracle I had escaped. The area that they were left in was a narrow one way path in the other direction, so it would at least buy me a few minutes. I slowed to a canter and headed for a gulley.

Over hundreds of years water had carved through the rock, causing vertical walls that weaved through the flat, dusty plains. Horizontal bands of silt and rock made it obvious that the land was ancient. Year by year, inch by inch, the river chipped at its bed and banks, gnawing at it like a starved beast to widen the passage and let through its continuous load. Now, I was making my way along the bottom of a miniature canyon, with the smallest stream I had ever seen. It's brown murky excuse for liquid lazed along the tiny channels in the floor. There must have been a drought in the area, that would explain all the dust and the lack of both plant and animal life.

My ears pricked up when I heard the faint sound of hoof beats. I looked franticly around for a place to conceal myself, but there was nowhere but the wide ditch ahead and behind me. Pained with fear, I turned my head to look for the riders accelerating towards me, before I was captured and taken to a far off land. My legs quivered with the lack of energy, and I looked forward to rest at last from this pathetic chase.

But there came no trio from the dark. Yet the sounds echoed around me. It was then that I realised that they had flanked me and meant to corner me at the end. I turned in the opposite direction and began to run again, urging my tired legs on. I then saw the last rider, the leader, heading straight for me at the bottom of the canyon. I reared and turned in one go and continued to sprint in the opposite direction. There was still a chance I could outrun them.

A minute later I saw it. Two slopes either side reaching down to my level. I started to race with the two horses on either side of me. The first one to the end f the slope would win. When they sped up, putting a further gap between us, I could see that I had already lost. The two riders had their loops ready and were swinging them above their heads. The one behind called to them, and he too had a loop above his head. One last time I found an escape route. A bank of silt pushed up against one of the ledges. I turned for it, feeling the unfamiliar brush of the man's rope on my back. That was the first time I had ever felt the vile stuff, itchy and strong. I bounded upwards for freedom.

The rope tightened around my neck and lurched back, pulling myself over with it. While I flailed in the air for a second a second hoop caught around my ankle, and a third also around my neck. I slid down on my back, the grit scratching at me all the way. When I finally came to a dusty stop, I tried to get up and run, but the ropes tightened again and strangled me, the one on my leg tripping me over. I lay on the ground for minutes, whilst all of us caught our breath.

Thomas 'Speedy' Dasher bent over almost double in the saddle, wheezing for breath. He was amongst some of the best riders in the west, and it was almost shameful that this mere horse had got him so exhausted. Refreshed, he patted his horse's neck and spoke out to his two workmates.

"Well lads, that were some chase, eh Bear?"

Barry Sasher, or simply 'Bear' as he was known to these close friends, nodded with a cough. He was almost the opposite to his best friend Tom, who was skinny and young, but was confident and light in the saddle. Bear on the other hand, had almost every disadvantage possible, but he was renowned for getting horses to reach their top speed, and though he was not the best of riders, he excelled at horse care. "Worth it though. Finest mare I ever seen, this'll be a prize for sure, they'll wanna buy her no doubt. Easy!" The palomino mustang on the ground struggled to get up, so he pulled on his lasso to prevent her from standing.

"Beauty ain't everything my boys," said a deep, harsh voice. "If she can't be ridden, she can't be sold. Her coat may be gold, but is her weight?"

"Yes, Boss." said Speedy and Bear together.

Jake Tumblethorn had been riding before he could walk. At forty-eight years old, he wasn't about to quit. His mother was of rich origins, his father died in battle and his brother was a blacksmith for the army. All three of those shared a connection with him: horses. He hated them, stupid creatures whose only use was their brute strength and speed. He did not ride for the pleasure of the animals. Oh no. He rode for the world, for the west. He had grown up on this barren land and had come to own it. That was what he rode for, that was even what he lived for: Control. He pleasured himself in getting something or someone to do as he said, or to be in charge of other people. That was why he was called the Boss. His two best friends did not fear him, just respected him. Only they would have that privilege aside from his family, if they ever chose to accept it. But everyone and everything else was to fear him like a tiny child would the dark. And he liked it that way.

Without patting it well done, Jake dismounted his horse and knelt by the mare, who was quieting now, accepting what was going on. "There now, you just do as told and nothing bad will come of you. You're luckier than some horses we've had, some were useless except for hound feed."

As if she understood him, and that would never happen, she was a thick headed beast and nothing more, the mare snapped at him, missing his fingers by millimetres. He yanked the rope around her neck as a punishment and got back on his horse. The small group pulled the poor creature to her feet and began the long trip to the ranch.

As they dragged me to distant horizons I dragged my feet across dry, hard rock. My frogs were sore, my legs were sore, I felt sick and dizzy. I only tried to resist once, but my dying strength was easily won over by the trio. I tried locking my legs, but they yanked me over with no fuss at all. I quickly gave in and just longed for a rest. At one point I thought I saw the eagle soar over me, but it was dark, and there were many other birds that it could have been.

Slowly, the sun began to rise above the distant mountains, and the frozen air started to thaw. I hadn't realised how cold it really was, I had been running so much that my muscles seemed forever heated. I noticed that even the men were becoming sleepier now, it had been a long night after all. The one in charge seemed harsh and overbearing, but the others I felt I could trust. Just a little. Still, I would not trust them until I knew what they were going to do with me or how they were going to treat me.

At noon we stopped for a well earned rest. We had walked far through the morning and were now in greener surroundings. There was lush, short grass that cushioned my throbbing feet, and a river that was icy cold. I even splashed my head in it to wake up and cool off, and the skinny one laughed when I soaked him through. I wanted water. I would not have gone another step unless I had filled myself with it. My throat was dry and gritty like the desert as I had not drank since the previous day. Refreshed, I stood with the other horses under the shade of a small tree. I was curious as to how they did not run off, for I was tethered to the trunk while they were allowed to walk freely. Eventually my inquisitive mind took over and I asked.

They said it was because the men treated them well, even the harsh one, who did not like them, did not harm them aside from using a whip or kicking too hard. Then why did they stay with them? Though they had heard of better things, like the wild and freedom like I had come from, the men were their friends and protected them. I asked them why they trusted them so much and why they did not want to try fending for themselves. They simply answered: "It is all we have ever known".

While we stayed there I mulled this over. I only wanted to go home because I was used to it, and did not like this world at first glance. But these horses were happy, their coats were shiny and their weight was right too, so it couldn't be all that bad. My father tried to get away every time he came across men, and he was lucky to escape. But I had attempted to fool them, and man's wit and intelligence was getting stronger. It was harder to fight than to do as they said, and who knew? Maybe I'd like it.

But my family, my friends. My life. How could I have been so selfish back then, and even wondered about becoming tamed. I could never in my days turn my back on them all. And yet, as the men gathered up their steeds, and untied the rope from around the tree cautiously, I did not run. The dumpy one even tried to stoke my neck, which I hesitated at first, afraid, but I soon let him pat me. I had made my decision, things were going to be easier from now on.

By nightfall we had made it to a small