environment of civilization, horses are gregarious.
They hate to be separated from the bunch to which
they are accustomed. Occasionally one of us would
stop on the trail, for some reason or another, thus
dropping behind the pack-train. Instantly the saddle-
horse so detained would begin to grow uneasy. Bullet
used by all means in his power to try to induce me
to proceed. He would nibble me with his lips, paw
the ground, dance in a circle, and finally sidle up to
me in the position of being mounted, than which he
could think of no stronger hint. Then when I had
finally remounted, it was hard to hold him in. He
would whinny frantically, scramble with enthusiasm
up trails steep enough to draw a protest at ordinary
times, and rejoin his companions with every symptom
of gratification and delight. This gregariousness and
alarm at being left alone in a strange country tends to
hold them together at night. You are reasonably
certain that in the morning, having found one, you will
come upon the rest not far away.

The personnel of our own outfit we found most
interesting. Although collected from divergent
localities they soon became acquainted. In a crowded
corral they were always compact in their organization,
sticking close together, and resisting as a solid phalanx
encroachments on their feed by other and stranger
horses. Their internal organization was very amusing.
A certain segregation soon took place. Some became
leaders; others by common consent were relegated to