“Vot? Don’d you pelief me! Der proncho vot could done dot don’d peen porn alretty yet. Get oud der vay of.”
Hans was determined, and Frank found it useless to argue with him.
“Is the animal vicious?” he asked in an aside of its owner.
“Wa-al, he ain’t bad,” was the slow reply. “He kin buck a leetle, but he’s trained to it, an’ he won’t try it unless I set him at it.”
“Then don’t set him at it, for Hans might be thrown off and killed. Let him ride, and he will be satisfied. It’ll be more sport to hear him boast than it would be to see him flung off and injured.”
The cowboy looked doubtful, but Frank finally succeeded in getting him to agree not to set the broncho to bucking.
Then Ephraim and Barney each got hold of one of Hans’ legs to assist him to mount.
“Are yez riddy?” asked the Irish lad, a twinkle in his eyes, with one of which he winked a signal at the Vermonter, who grinned back knowingly.
“Vait a leedle!” squawked Hans, as he reached up with his short arms and got a hold on the saddle—“vait till I ged me der saddles hold uf!”
“Wal, be ye reddy naow?” asked Ephraim.