Shanter started round angrily.
“Mine go ride plenty mine,” he cried.
“No. Don’t touch the horse,” said the captain, sternly.
White man and black stood gazing in each other’s eyes for some moments, and then Shanter took his spear from where it leaned against the rails, and marched off toward the nearest patch of scrub, displaying such airs of offended dignity that the boys all laughed, with the result that Shanter turned upon them furiously—like a ridiculed child—threw himself into an attitude, and threatened to throw his spear. But, as the boys laughed all the more heartily, he turned and went off.
“You have offended his majesty, father,” cried Norman.
“Oh, he’ll forget it all in a few hours,” said Rifle and they went back in to breakfast.
Soon after the captain had a ride round, ostensibly to see the more distant cattle; but, as he owned to Rifle, who accompanied him, really to see if there were any traces of blacks; but there were none.
“I’ll send Shanter out scouting,” said the captain, as they rode back; but there was no Shanter to send. He had evidently not forgotten, and not come back.
The next morning a visit was again paid to where the horses were enclosed every night, the captain meaning to have the colt ridden daily now, so as to break it in by degrees, when, to his annoyance, he found it looking rough and out of order, but that evening it seemed to be much better, and was grazing heartily as usual.
The next morning it was the same, and so on for several more mornings.