“May th’ ould Nick floy away wid a broncho thet won’t shtand still!” cried Barney. “Av th’ baste hadn’t moved thin it’s mounted ye’d been alriddy.”
“Did der proncho move?”
“Move?” cried Ephraim, with a broad gesture. “Does dynamite move if yeou swat it with a brick!”
Hans faced the animal, shaking his fist angrily at the innocent creature.
“Look ad here, Mister Proncho!” he squealed; “uf you don’d done dot again, I peen goin’ to kick uf you der hay oudt! Dot vos peesness! I don’d dislike dot foolin’, und I vant you to misunderstood dot!”
“Thar, b’gosh!” said Ephraim; “I kinder guess the gol darn critter understands it naow!”
“You pet! Now, you put me ub right avay queek pefore he haf forgotten id. Hurry up!”
Again the boys caught hold of Hans, but this time they lifted him onto the back of the broncho, where, with no small amount of awkwardness, he succeeded in getting seated in the saddle.
“Hah!” he cried, triumphantly. “Don’d I toldt you so! Ven I vos retty to done peesness, I vos der poy to got there!”
“Hurrah!” shouted the other boys, waving their caps and hands. “What’s the matter with Dunnerwust? He’s all right! ’Rah! ’rah! ’rah!”