“Oh, he’s lively, of course. He hain’t been doin’ nothing fur three or four months, you know, an’ never had a saddle on him but two or three times. If he hain’t the next thing to a lightnin’ express train, you jest take my hat an’ say no more about it. Purty as a red wagon wheel, too, he is. Jump? I should say he could. And last! You can’t tire him down. He’s made of iron. Thar he is. Jump on him an’ put him through his paces.”
While this conversation was going on, the vaquero had with wonderful dexterity slipped a bridle over the horse’s head, strapped a deep Spanish saddle on his back, and now stood holding him in readiness for Guy to mount.
CHAPTER XX.
GUY, THE ROUGH RIDER.
GUY HEARD scarcely a word of Mr. Wilson’s glowing description of the merits of his horse, for his mind was busy with something else. He was trying to think up some good excuse for declining to mount the animal. He made one praiseworthy resolution then and there, and that was that he would never again indulge in boasting. He had never done it yet without being exposed.
“Thar he is!” repeated the ranchman. “Jump on! an’ if he don’t take you through San Joaquin a leetle trifle faster than you ever traveled afore on hoss-back I’ll give him to you for nothing. Hand us your foot an’ I’ll throw you on.”
Guy’s pride was stronger than his fear. He could see no way to get out of the difficulty into which he had brought himself by his reckless boasting except by a frank confession, and that, of course, was not to be thought of. He noticed that the animal became quieter since the bit was put into his mouth, and consoling himself with the hope that perhaps he was not so bad after all, Guy seized the horn of the saddle, gave his foot to Mr. Wilson, and in a twinkling was seated on the animal’s back.
The horse seemed astonished at his presumption. He turned his head first one way and then the other, looking at Guy over each shoulder, while the ranchman and his vaquero begun to back away, as if in anticipation of something that was about to happen.
“Put your feet in the stirrups,” said Mr. Wilson, “an’ I’ll give him a good send off.”