"That's funny," said John. He dismounted from his horse and ran toward Jack's animal. The horse allowed himself to be taken by the briddle and lead, showing no sign of fear. John bent over and was examining the saddle.
"I guess your yell must have scared him," spoke Jack. "It was the worst I ever heard."
"It wasn't that," replied John. "Western horses are used to all sorts of yells. Ah, I thought so," he went on, "this explains it."
He pulled something from the underside of the pad and held it up to view. It was a long cactus thorn.
"That was what bothered the horse," John said. "It must have been torture to have any one on the saddle. See there," and he pointed to several drops of blood on the animal's back.
"Why didn't it act so as soon as I got on?" asked Jack.
"Some one has played a trick," said John "See, the thorn was trapped in cloth, so the point would not work through until the horse had been ridden some distance. I wonder who did it, and what for?"
"I know," Jack exclaimed, as the memory of the talk under his window the night previous came to him. "It was Cactus Ike," and he told what he had heard. "He wanted to get even with me for having been the cause of his being turned out of his room. No wonder they call him Cactus Ike."
"I'll tell uncle Morris," cried Nat.
"No, say nothing about it," counseled John. "We'll get square in our own way. Pretend nothing happened. If Ike asks us how we liked the ride, we'll never let on we had any trouble. It will keep him guessing."