No horses grazed in sight, and he climbed through and went picking his way across the lumpy meadow in the starlight.

At the farther side he found the horses standing out on a sandy ridge where the mosquitoes were not quite so pestiferous.

The Little Lost horses snorted and took to their heels, his three following for a short distance.
Bud stopped and whistled a peculiar call invented long ago when he was just Buddy, and watched over the Tomahawk REMUDA.

Every horse with the Tomahawk brand knew that summons--though not every horse would obey it.

But these three had come when they were sucking colts, if Buddy whistled; and in their breaking and training, in the long trip north, they had not questioned its authority.