It was early morning when Crow, rifle in hand and Ponto at his heels, walked the short distance to the box canyon. Crow enjoyed early mornings. Hearing the birds greet the morning and seeing the sun inching up from behind the mountains made him feel alive.
The vaqueros had been working with the first group of horses and Crow was looking forward to seeing what progress they had made. Arriving at the mouth of the canyon, Crow opened the gate. After entering, he closed and secured the gate behind him. There were more than twenty horses in the corral now. He"d been told that all but two or three had been broken to the saddle.
A group of ten horses watched Crow and the dog, their ears thrust forward listening. “Buenos dias,” said Crow to the horses. The mustangs stood and stared. Some pawed t
