If he fell off, the following horses would trample him. But he felt no fear. This was like flying, like being borne aloft on an eagle’s wings. The snake fence caught his eye. For a moment, he thought the horse would jump; but when he pulled on the cord, it veered away. One gallop around the pasture, and then he directed the horse through the open gate and down the lane. The herd followed. On reaching the track, he slowed his horse to a canter, and then to a soft trot. The game was over. Bringing the grey to a halt, he stroked its neck. “Good boy!” He slid from its back. Leaving the herd scattered up and down the track, he raced to the camp. Chaos was everywhere. Soldiers were running after the horses. Prisoners, left unguarded, were seizing the chance to escape. “Cherokees!” someone yelled. “Damned horse thieves.” Cherokees! Broken Trail laughed. But the joke would be on him if the rebels were to capture him wearing his deerskin clothes.
