There arose a series of yells and angry squeals and snorts. Buckskin could be seen taking furious nips at the man, who was trying to beat him off as well as he was able, and all the while yelling lustily for help.
Teeth and hoofs were giving the rascal all he could manage; and unless something soon came to pass to change matters, there was no telling what would happen to one venturesome horse thief who, as Bob expressed it, had “bitten off more than he could chew.”
Frank was only waiting until he thought that the fellow had been sufficiently punished, when he expected to call the animal off. It was of course a question whether the enraged Buckskin would obey the call; and in case he refused, some other means must be taken to save the life of the fellow who was dodging, lighting, and howling with all his might.
“Frank, he’ll kill him!” exclaimed Bob, who could hardly move, so deeply interested had he been by this strange happening that had taken place before them, as though the performance had been especially arranged for their benefit.
Apparently the other must have just come to the same conclusion.
“Here, hold my gun, Bob!” he remarked; and when the transfer had been accomplished Frank put his fingers to his lips.
A shrill whistle pealed forth. Buckskin ceased his astonishing actions, and, with a whinny, started rapidly toward the spot where his master waited.
Once the yellow horse paused, and turned half around, as though strongly tempted to disobey, and go back for another dance with the horse thief; who, taking advantage of the opening, was limping away in a hurry.
Frank sent out another whistle; and this settled matters. Buckskin dared not disobey. Possibly he had in a measure satisfied his desire for revenge, and felt that he could afford to let the thief get away in a crippled condition.
“Good old chap!” said Frank, as he fondled the muzzle of the intelligent pony. “The rustler that gets you will have to be a better man than that one you just nibbled at!”