This old boy was out in the flats all by himself. I had no idea where the band was hanging out and he wouldn't say.
Late in the afternoon I saw them coming down a fence line. Some guy on a 4-wheeler spooked them away from the fence. They ran about a quarter mile and turned back my way and ran between the fence and my camera. The best I could count was 113 head.
Gypsy and her family seemed to be kicking up their share of dust.
I hurried around the hill just in time to see them spill over the ridge.
At about three miles, most of them didn't even slow down for a drink.
Ol Friendly Fred was working up a sweat.
He's a game little sucker, but I'll bet he wishes he didn't have all that fur to pack.
The third and last time I was able to bushwhack them was when they went through this gate and ran past the last water trough. In all I figure they ran just about ten miles. Quite a distance for the half dozen colts in the band.