From the crest of the hills Samuel saw a herd of mustangs in full flight across the undulating plain. They ran with nodding heads, and their thick wavy tails streamed behind them. They had trim legs and small hooves, crested necks and long flowing manes. They bore within themselves the Andalusian and Soraya blood from the horses who had escaped from the Spaniards centuries ago. He wondered what they were running from. There had to have been two hundred or more. Then he knew they were running because they wanted to, because the plains were open and level and they were made to run.
