The deceptive creature stood quite still while Ephraim jumped up and swung one leg over its back, and then, before the Vermonter could straighten up in the saddle, the broncho started with wild and eccentric leaps to scoot around through the party.
“Whoa!” yelled the lank lad, wildly clinging to the creature—“whoa, gol darn ye! Stan’ still a jiffy till I git onter——Wow!”
The broncho performed a twisting evolution that sent Ephraim spinning, and the twinkling heels of the animal narrowly missed the Vermonter’s head.
Ephraim got up quickly from the ground, placed his arms akimbo, his hands resting on his hips, and stared at the broncho, which was quite still, its head drooping and its whole attitude one of dejection and meekness.
“Wal, may I be chawed to death by ’skeeters if yeou ain’t ther darndest deceivin’ critter I ever saw!” he drawled.
Then the cowboys shouted again. They were having fun at the expense of the tenderfeet.
Frank was enjoying all this, and, at the same time, was watching Indian Charlie, who had sauntered out of one of the stables and joined the crowd.
To his surprise the foreman of the Lone Star did not notice him at all, or pretended not to notice him. Charlie did not look in the direction of Frank.
“I’ll keep my eyes open to see that he doesn’t take me by surprise some time,” thought Merriwell.
Charlie sneered at Ephraim.