But Hiram caught the bridle and snatched it from the other fellow's hand.
“Just let me manage him a minute,” said Hiram, leading the horse into the sunshine.
He patted him, and soothed him, and the horse ceased trembling and his ears pricked up. Hiram, still keeping the reins in his hand, loosened the cinches and eased the saddle so that the animal could breathe better.
There were bunches of dried sage-grass growing by the roadside, and the young farmer tore off a couple of these bunches and used them to wipe down the horse's legs. Pretty soon the creature forgot his fright and looked like a normal horse again.
“If he was mine I'd give him whip a-plenty—till he learned better,” drawled Pete Dickerson, finally.
“Don't you ever dare touch him with the whip again!” cried the girl, stamping her foot. “He will not stand it. You were told——”
“Aw, well,” said the fellow, “'I didn't think he was going to cut up as bad as that. These Western horses ain't more'n half broke, anyway.”
“I think he is perfectly safe for you to ride now, Miss Bronson,” said Hiram, quietly. “I'll give you a hand up. But walk him home, please.”
He had tightened the cinches again. Lettie put her tiny booted foot in his hand (she wore a very pretty dark green habit) and with perfect ease the young farmer lifted her into the saddle.
“Good-bye—and thank you again!” she said, softly, giving him her free hand just as the horse started.