Long ago in the Southwestern desert, when wild horses roamed freely everywhere and there were no barbed wire fences, and men lived on horseback taking care of the cattle, there was a certain territory that had three clean, sweet watering holes, some grass in the summer up on the high plateaus and some grass in the cold winters down in the valleys. To get from one watering hole to the next was a journey of almost 20 miles, and because the grass was not abundant, the water so far apart, and the soil so sandy and rocky, there weren't many people or cattle there.

There were deer, and fox, and coyotes, and wolves, and cougars as well as the horses. These wild horses were tougher than most, because they had to watch that the coyotes and wolves didn't hunt down and catch their foals each summer, or that the cougars didn't jump on their backs and kill even the adults. They were very wary and alert. They weren't very big horses, since the grass was thin and sparse, and sometimes they even had to eat the bark of young trees. There was only one band living here, and the stallion was white. He had been born black, but slowly his coat had paled until by age five, his coat and mane and tail was pure white. In the moonlit nights on the desert, he sometimes even appeared blue. And he was a pacer. All the mares in his band trotted, as most horses do, but the white stallion was a true pacer, never trotting.

When he was six, he saw for the first time in his life a strange sight. It looked like a horse, and it smelled like a horse, but it had two heads! And there was another, strange smell coming from it... perhaps the smell of a preditor. He rounded up his mares and foals and drove them away from the creature, and as he left, the cowboy saw the white stallion in the rear of the herd pacing as fast as the mares and foals were galloping.

And that was the beginning of the legend of the famous Pacing White Mustang of the West. As humans moved onto land near his territory, he was spotted more often, and always admired. He was a well built horse, though small, and very smart. He was never seen for very long at one time, as he knew his territory very well, and could find a place for his band to hide out quickly. And always, he was seen to keep up with his band galloping while he remained in a swift pace.

Eventually, he stole some mares from the remudas on ranches, and some people wanted to get rid of him. Others wanted to capture him to tame and ride themselves, and one man offered $5,000 to anyone who could catch him and bring him to his ranch to be tamed.

Cowboys started out to capture him. One of the best cowboys and horse trainers rode his best mare and chase the stallion while the mare was in heat, hoping the stallion would turn back to her. The stallion left his band when he realized it was only he that was being chased, and he never broke his pace. He went 15 miles while the mare galloped on, until she was exhausted and stepped in a hole and fell. Her rider fell with her, and regretted he'd every tried to catch the pacing mustang. He had to lead the mare slowly back, on foot, and he told everyone he knew that it was a waste of time to try and catch that pacing white mustang.

Others tried to crease him. Creasing was a practice in which the horse was shot in the neck, up high, so that it would only stun him and he would fall and lie there long enough for a rope to be put around his neck or his feet. But all bullets missed him.

One cowboy was dead set on capturing the pacing mustang and collecting the $5,000 reward. He got a group of six friends together with twelve horses, and they staked out areas along the perimeter of the stallion's territory so that they could chase him and when one horse and rider was tired, they could stop and there would always be another to take up the chase, keeping the pacing mustang constantly on the run. They chased him for two days and nights, and on the dawn of the third day, they had lost him. They had no idea where he was. They gave up in admiration for his courage, speed and intelligence.

The pacing mustang had headed for the plateau, and on the way from the valley to the top, there was a cravace where he hid. After this exhausting chase, he rounded up his mares and headed north, and was never seen again, or at least never by two people at once. For many years in that territory people claimed to have seen him, usually on a moonlit night, the white horse appearing almost ghostly as he smoothly paced far off and out of reach of rope or bullet.