In the heat-shimmering emptiness of the Nevada desert, a swirling cloud of dust heralds the loud, sudden arrival of wild mustangs. “Look at ’em
go,” says cowboy Monty, pointing at the horses thundering into view, as we tear through the scrubland in a high-powered all-terrain vehicle
in their wake. It’s like chasing ghosts. Somehow I can’t quite believe they’re real.