Sadie Rodney, however, did not think Frank could ride the broncho.
“Don’t try it, Mr. Merriwell!” she entreated. “You will be killed!”
“I hardly think so,” smiled Frank, quietly.
Four cowboys came leading Firebrand from the corral. The animal was a vicious-looking creature, with an ugly cast in his eyes, and even as it was brought forth, it made a desperate attempt to beat down one of the men with its forward hoofs, rearing into the air and striking with amazing quickness.
The cowboy dodged and escaped, but the broncho suddenly stopped, and no urging could induce it to stir another step.
Indian Charlie’s metallic laugh rang out.
“The tenderfoot will do a fine job with that creature!” he cried. “I never collared a hundred easier in all my life. Why, he won’t be able to stay on Firebrand’s back a second, if he ever gets there.”
It was not possible to strap a saddle to the back of such a creature without a fight, and it took six cowboys at least twenty minutes to succeed in doing this.
Frank stood and watched this work, seeming not at all disturbed by the struggle that was going on.
“The tenderfoot has confidence in himself,” said one of the cowboys.