“Heads,” Nick reported. “Now watch your step, Teddy. I know you can ride, but I don’t want to see you ploughin’ a trench in the dirt. I’ll get this here cinch strap good an’ tight, so the saddle won’t sway none.”
In silence the horse was made ready. Teddy stood by his side, and at a signal from him, Roy and Nick stood away. Teddy vaulted into the saddle.
The animal stood like a statue. Not a muscle moved. Teddy whipped his hat from his head and “fanned” the pony. And this time he got results. Straight into the air the animal leaped, landing with legs as stiff as boards. But Teddy was ready for this maneuver, and took the shock with his feet firm in the stirrups.
“Stick to him!” Nick yelled. “Watch out that he doesn’t swing his head on you!”
The warning came not a moment too soon, for the horse flung his head around savagely and bared his teeth. But these teeth never met in Teddy’s flesh, for at the same instant the boy sawed fiercely on the reins, jerking the head straight again.
Now the bronco settled down to the business on hand, and showed the two breathless watchers some of the finer points of bucking. But Teddy stuck, and not once did he “go to leather,” as gripping the pommel of the saddle is called. At the end of several minutes, each of which seemed an eternity, the pony stopped as suddenly as he began, cocked one eye at the top rail of the corral fence, and sprang again into action, this time on a dead run.
“Watch it!” Roy yelled. “He’ll never make it, Teddy! Pull him up! Pull him up!”
But Teddy had a look in his eyes not unlike the fire that gleamed in the eyes of the bronco. He was doing no “pulling up.”
“Yeo-o-o-ow!” he shouted. “Go to it! We’re off! Baby, if you clear that—”
There was no time for more. The horse had reached the rails. Teddy felt the muscles of his mount contract like steel springs, and then he was flying through the air, up, up, up—