The Bee Hunters by Gustave Aimard — Read

In the meantime Don Fernando Carril, bending over his horse's mane, was gliding through the night like a phantom.

Thanks to the precaution he had taken of wrapping pieces of sheepskin round the hoofs of the horse, he passed on silently and rapidly as the spectre-horseman of the German ballad, making the frightened packs of _coyotes_ fly before his career.