Jack heard this last remark and realized from it that the pony he had selected was a “bad one.” But he determined to stick it out.
Mr. Reeves came over to his side.
“I wouldn’t try to ride Dynamite, my boy,” he said. “He’s the most unruly broncho on the ranch. Take a quieter one like your chums have.”
“I like this buckskin, sir, and, if you have no objection, I mean to ride him,” spoke Jack quietly.
Something in the boy’s eye and the determined set of his mouth and chin told the ranch owner that it would be useless to argue with Jack.
“At any rate, I’ll send Bud in to help you cinch up,” he volunteered.
“Thank you,” said Jack, keeping his eyes on the buckskin, which had his ears laid back, and was the very picture of defiance.
Bud, grinning all over, came into the corral swinging a rope. He skillfully caught the broncho’s legs and threw the refractory animal to the ground. The instant the pony was down Jack ran forward and put a blindfold over his eyes.
“Waal, I see you do know something,” admitted Bud grudgingly, “but you ain’t never goin’ ter ride Dynamite.”