"I thought it was goin' to burn th' valley up.
"'This'll bring him,' says Tim.
"'Not him,' I says! 'He'll die first.'
"'He's too damn good a sport to die,' Tim said. 'He'll quit when he's licked.'
"An' he did."
The man walked to the sorrel, who stood still idly switching at flies. He threw his arm about the great head and the horse, swaying forward, pushed against his body with playful affection until Bayard was shoved from his footing.
"You did, didn't you, Abe? He didn't wait for dark. It was still light an' after waitin' all that time on us, you'd thought he'd stuck it out until we couldn't see so well. But it seemed as if Tim was right, as if he quit when he saw he was licked, like a good sport. He just disappeared into that wash an' come up on th' near side an' walked slow toward us, stoppin' now an' then, sidesteppin' like he was goin' to turn back, but always comin' on an' on. He made a big circle toward the corral an', when he got close, 'bout fifty yards off, he started to trot an' he went through that gate on a high lope, comin' to stop plumb in th' middle of that hole, spatterin' water an' mud all over himself an' half th' country.
"'Twasn't much then. We made it to th' gate on our horses. He could see us, but we knew after bein' dried out that long he'd just naturally have to fill up. When I reached for th' gate, he made one move like he tried to get away but 'twas too late. We had him trapped. He was licked. He looked us over an' then went to lay down in th' water."
He stroked the long, fine neck slowly.
"After that 'twas easy. I knew he was more or less man even if he was horse. We put th' first rope on him he'd ever felt next mornin'. Of course, 'twas kind of a tournament for a while, but, finally we both tied on an' started home with him between us. He played around some, but finally let up; not licked, not discouraged, understand, but just as if he admitted we had one on him an' he was goin' to see our game through for curiosity.