He reared up till it seemed as if he must go over backward.
“Bravo! Well done!” muttered the captain. “By George! Wyatt, the boy can ride.”
“Ride!” whispered the lieutenant in husky tones. “Look at that.”
For the horse, disappointed at the failure of its efforts, began once more to bound off the earth; but there was no better result, the young rider bending and giving like a cane, but always sitting slightly bent forward as the beautiful creature made another of its graceful bounds.
“Well, I’m blest!” muttered the sergeant.
“He’ll begin to buck directly,” whispered the gunner who was using one hand to softly rub his back.
But this did not follow till a few more bounds had been made: and then it was after two or three angry squeals, the animal’s back being arched, head and tail down, and feet drawn together for the necessary springs, each coming more quickly after the last, while every one who watched felt to a certainty that the rider must be thrown at the next leap, and the gunner wondered that the lad had not come off at the last.
But Dick’s mettle was roused; and, in spite of being nearly dislodged, he gripped the saddle fast and gave with his steed’s muscular efforts, getting fast again in his seat before the next effort.
Ten or a dozen of these mad leaps were made, the horse squealing fiercely as he bucked; but Dick was still in his seat when the Arab tossed up his head again, swerved to his right, and, laying himself out like a greyhound, went off at speed along the parade-ground for the opening at the end, and with his rider sitting well down to this comparatively easy work, disappeared like a flash.
“After him, Wyatt!” cried the captain. “Poor lad! I ought not to have let him mount.—You, too, Sergeant,—Follow them, Smith.”