Their stillness makes them almost imperceptible. But I know they are out there, so I cup my hands around my eyes and squint into the late afternoon sunlight, scanning the high desert for any sign of movement. Suddenly, they appear: Nearly a dozen wild mustangs grazing in scattered groups on the hillside. Lingering beneath a partly cloudy sky, they look painted onto the landscape. The air smells of dirt and sagebrush as I stand by my car parked on the side of Steens Mountain Loop Road, on the western flank of the mountain in southeast Oregon. Around me, the wilderness is silent except for a bevy of Western meadowlarks, who, perching on desert plants, tip their heads back and serenade anything passing by.