"He shore is some rider," Slats acknowledged generously.
Bob, realizing that he must get control, in a measure at least, before the corral was reached, was tugging at the reins with all his strength and succeeded when only a few feet from the fence. Then, Satan stopped with a jolt which nearly threw him over the pommel. Maddened at this last failure, Satan next tried standing on his hind legs. Up he rose until he was standing nearly vertical. Bob leaned as far forward as possible, sorely tempted to grab hold of the horn of the saddle, but he had read that "pulling leather" was as good as acknowledging defeat, so he kept his hand away and clung to the reins.
"He's going over backwards," Sue gasped.
She was right. Satan, whether by intention or otherwise, lost his balance and came down with a crash on his back. But Bob had thrown himself from the saddle in time to escape being caught and, as the horse scrambled to his feet, he was again in the saddle before he had a chance to bolt.
"All ready for the next one," he cried as he dug his spurs into Satan's ribs.
It was the first time he had used the spurs and, for an instant, the horse seemed too much surprised to move.
"Go on, start something," Bob shouted just as Satan began to buck again.
Up and down he went and for several minutes Bob had all he could manage to keep his seat, but he stuck to it and finally the horse, now breathing heavily, stopped bucking and stood still.
"Next," Bob tried digging in the spurs again.
This time Satan again got the bit between his teeth and started for the open prairie. Bob did not try to free the bit this time but let him run.