“You want to look out, Merry,” he said. “That chap didn’t like the way you called him down, and he’ll bring you a vicious animal.”
“I know it,” nodded Merry, pulling on a pair of heavy gloves. “It is what I expect.”
Bart said no more. He had seen Merry ride, and he knew Frank was a natural horse breaker.
The puncher returned in a short time, leading a little, wiry, evil-eyed broncho. He was followed by several other cowboys, and Merry heard one of them say:
“Better not let him try it, Hough. He’ll be killed, and Carson will fire you.”
“I’ll warn him,” returned the one called Hough, “an’ then I won’t be ter blame. He wants ter ride; let him ride—if he kin.”
Frank looked the broncho over.
“Is this the best saddle horse you have?” he asked.
“Waal, he’s the only one handy now,” was the sullen answer. “He’s a bit onreliable at times, an’ you’d better look out fer him. I wouldn’t recommend him for a lady ter ride.”
“By that I presume you mean he is a bucker?”