VB got to his feet and wiped the dust from his eyes.
"Hurt?" asked Jed.
"Nothing but my pride," muttered the boy. He grasped the saddle again, got one foot in the stirrup, and, after being dragged around the inclosure, got to the seat.
Again he was thrown, and when he arose and made for the horse a third time Jed slipped down from the fence to intervene.
"Not again to-day," he said, with a pride that he could not suppress. "Take it easy; try him again to-morrow."
"But I don't want to give up!" protested the boy. "I can ride that horse."
"You ain't givin' up; I made you," the other smiled. "You ought to have been born in the hills. You'd have made a fine bronc twister. Ain't it a shame th' way men are wasted just by bein' born out of place?"
VB seemed not to hear. He rubbed the nose of the frantic horse a moment, then said:
"If I could get this near the Captain— Jed, if I could ever get a leg over that stallion he'd be mine or I'd die trying!"
"Still thinkin' of him?"