“I’ll do the best I can,” Scott replied quietly, “but I do not suppose that I can stay on long,” and he started to climb the fence.
Just then the supervisor caught sight of the English saddle. “Hold on there, Jed,” he called angrily, “what kind of a saddle is that for a bucking broncho?”
“It’s an English saddle and your friend’s English, ain’t he?” Jed sneered. It was a brilliant retort but it did not bring the response that he expected except from a few of his friends.
“I don’t care what nationality he is,” responded the supervisor resolutely. “I don’t want to spoil your fun, but I am not going to stand here and see one of my men murdered. There is not a cowboy in this crowd who would try to ride that horse with that saddle and you know it.”
There was a murmur of approval from the crowd. They were perfectly willing to see Scott spilled, had come there for that particular purpose, but they wanted fair play and an English saddle was no saddle at all in their eyes. Mr. Ramsey was right when he said that none of them would have used it. There is nothing for which a cowboy has more genuine contempt than for an English saddle. Jed was embarrassed by the decided disfavor of the crowd where he had expected unanimous support, but he stood his ground doggedly.
“That ain’t no fair game, Jed,” Mr. McGoorty, the hotel keeper and mayor of the town called from the fence, “and you ain’t goin’ to boost no greenhorn onto that fingernail affair in this town with my consent.”
“Mack’s scared he’s goin’ to lose a boarder,” Mose drawled.
The controversy bid fair to become serious with the odds very much against Jed Clark when Scott unexpectedly brought it to an abrupt termination. “That is the only kind of saddle I have ever used,” he said, “and I might as well try it. He can’t throw me much farther out of that than he could out of the other kind.”
He walked quietly up to the horse behind Jed, who was facing his opponents, grasped the reins firmly, and before any one realized what he was doing he was squarely astride the big black. A sudden stillness fell upon the crowd. Jed Clark, seeing what had happened, made a wild dash for the fence. He had enjoyed posing as the only man who could pet that beautiful wild animal, but he had no desire to be within reach when the royal beauty learned of the indignity which had been put upon him. Scott felt just as he had many a time before when he had put on the gloves with a man who, he knew, could outbox him. He had no hope of success but was determined to do his best. He had never seen a Western horse perform and did not fully realize the seriousness of the situation.
For a moment the great horse stood dazed and puzzled by this new burden. He had never had any experience in throwing a man; no man had ever before presumed to burden him. He moved nervously and Scott’s tightening knees drove terror and rage to his very heart. He forgot the inherited secret of his race; he forgot the wily strategy he had often seen his fellows use to such good purpose; it never occurred to him to buck. He wanted only to get away, to be rid of that devil on his back. With a mighty bound he started at full speed for the six foot fence around the corral, his eyes flaring and his nostrils distended with abject terror. The supervisor’s heart sank as the maddened brute, blinded with rage approached the barrier. Then there arose a gasp of mingled astonishment and admiration as the great horse, heedless of the scattering crowd, rose to the fence like a bird, cleared it by a wide margin, and tore away down the main street. There was a great scurrying among the spectators to get their saddle horses for the pursuit, but every one knew that there was not another horse in the country which could compare with Jed Clark’s stallion for speed, and long before any of the cowboys had mounted, the black had cleared the east end of the town leaving a train of staring excited faces behind him.