A great fenced field of dark velvety green alfalfa furnished a rich
background for the drove of about twenty white horses. Even without
the horses the field would have presented a striking contrast to the
surrounding hot, glaring blaze of rock and sand. Belding had bred a
hundred or more horses from the original stock he had brought up
from Durango. His particular interest was in the almost
unblemished whites, and these he had given especial care. He made
a good deal of money selling this strain to friends among the
ranchers back in Texas. No mercenary consideration, however, could
have made him part with the great, rangy white horses he had gotten
from the Durango breeder. He called them Blanco Diablo (White
Devil), Blanco Sol (White Sun), Blanca Reina (White Queen), Blanca
Mujer (White Woman), and El Gran Toro Blanco (The Big White Bull).
Belding had been laughed at by ranchers for preserving the
sentimental Durango names, and he had been unmercifully ridiculed
by cowboys. But the names had never been changed.
Blanco Diablo was the only horse in the field that was not free to
roam and graze where he listed. A stake and a halter held him to
one corner, where he was severely let alone by the other horses.
He did not like this isolation. Blanco Diablo was not happy unless
he was running, or fighting a rival. Of the two he would rather fight.
If anything white could resemble a devil, this horse surely did. He had
nothing beautiful about him, yet he drew the gaze and held it.
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