A horse's performance under saddle tells what he is. The stories that follow are, in a way, the finality on the mustang breed. They belong to the times when "a man on foot was no man at all." When a man's horse was his best friend and a horseman unhorsed was sin pies—without feet. They express or imply the cooperation between the carrier and the carried, flesh conforming to flesh, spirit blending with spirit, intelligence recognizing intelligence.

(Here, Dobie pays tribute to the best, in his estimation. In order: Colonel Richard Dodge, W.B. Slaughter, Ellie Newman, Colonel John C. Fremont, Francois Aubry, Gregorio Cortez, Chester Evans, and Frank T. Hopkins.)

In 1886, Lucky Baldwin, the Californian plunger, and Richard K. Fox, owner of the Police Gazette, offered a prize of $3000 for the best rider and horse to start from Galveston, Texas, and finish at Rutland, Vermont, 1799 miles away. On September 6 of that year fifty-six riders headed north from Galveston, among them cowboys, ex-Cavalrymen, and professional horse trainers. The rules stipulated that no man should ride more than ten hours a day. Judges were kept informed by cards that the riders were required to present for punching at designated stations along the route. Frank T. Hopkins rode a dun stallion seven years old, with the dark line down his back, black mane and tail, and black hoofs, weighing about 800 pounds. He had been caught by Buffalo Jones in a band of wild Indian ponies ranging in the Shoshone Valley of Wyoming. After horsebreakers gave him up as an untamable outlaw, Buffalo Jones gave him to Hopkins. "In two month's time of careful handling," wrote Hopkins, "I rode him after buffalo. He never seemed to tire. He was the only horse I ever saw that after finishing a run with one herd of buffaloes was ready to take on another. I called him Joe…. I never was a sprinter, but I knew a thing or two about long distance riding. I did not press Joe at first. The other riders all passed me. Then I began passing them, one by one. I rode for thirty-one days, and then waited in Rutland, Vermont, two weeks before the second man rode in, and we two waited together for several days before the next rider got in. We three were the only riders who finished—three out of fifty-six. My daily average on the ride was 58 miles."



J. Frank Dobie (1888–1964) was one of America's most respected western historians and folklorists. In 1964 he was awarded the nation's highest civil award, the Medal of Freedom, for his life's work as a chronicler of the American West.