“Yes, miss; he would make an uncommon good runner,” answered the hunter, as he regarded the animal with a critical glance—“at least if he don’t shy at a gunshot.”
“I never tried his nerves in that way,” said Kate, with a smile; “perhaps he would shy at that. He has a good deal of spirit—oh, I do dislike a lazy horse, and I do delight in a spirited one!” Kate gave her horse a smart cut with the whip, half involuntarily, as she spoke. In a moment it reared almost perpendicularly, and then bounded forward; not, however, before Jacques’s quick eye had observed the danger, and his ever-ready hand arrested its course.
“Have a care, Miss Kate,” he said, in a warning voice, while he gazed in the face of the excited girl with a look of undisguised admiration. “It don’t do to wallop a skittish beast like that.”
“Never fear, Jacques,” she replied, bending forward to pat her charger’s arching neck; “see, he is becoming quite gentle again.”
“If he runs away, Kate, we won’t be able to catch you again, for he’s the best of the four, I think,” said Harry, with an uneasy glance at the animal’s flashing eye and expanded nostrils.
“Ay, it’s as well to keep the whip off him,” said Jacques. “I know’d a young chap once in St. Louis who lost his sweetheart by usin’ his whip too freely.”
“Indeed,” cried Kate, with a merry laugh, as they emerged from one of the numerous thickets and rode out upon the open plain at a foot pace; “how was that, Jacques? Pray tell us the story.”
“As to that, there’s little story about it,” replied the hunter. “You see, Tim Roughead took arter his name, an’ was always doin’ some mischief or other, which more than once nigh cost him his life; for the young trappers that frequent St. Louis are not fellows to stand too much jokin’, I can tell ye. Well, Tim fell in love with a gal there who had jilted about a dozen lads afore; an’ bein’ an oncommon handsome, strappin’ fellow, she encouraged him a good deal. But Tim had a suspicion that Louise was rayther sweet on a young storekeeper’s clerk there; so, bein’ an off-hand sort o’ critter, he went right up to the gal, and says to her, says he, ‘Come, Louise, it’s o’ no use humbuggin’ with me any longer. If you like me, you like me; and if you don’t like me, you don’t. There’s only two ways about it. Now, jist say the word at once, an’ let’s have an end on’t. If you agree, I’ll squat with you in whativer bit o’ the States you like to name; if not, I’ll bid you good-bye this blessed mornin’, an’ make tracks right away for the Rocky Mountains afore sundown. Ay or no, lass: which is’t to be?’
“Poor Louise was taken all aback by this, but she knew well that Tim was a man who never threatened in jest, an’ moreover she wasn’t quite sure o’ the young clerk; so she agreed, an’ Tim went off to settle with her father about the weddin’. Well, the day came, an’ Tim, with a lot o’ his comrades, mounted their horses, and rode off to the bride’s house, which was a mile or two up the river out of the town. Just as they were startin’, Tim’s horse gave a plunge that well-nigh pitched him over its head, an’ Tim came down on him with a cut o’ his heavy whip that sounded like a pistol-shot. The beast was so mad at this that it gave a kind o’ squeal an’ another plunge that burst the girths. Tim brought the whip down on its flank again, which made it shoot forward like an arrow out of a bow, leavin’ poor Tim on the ground. So slick did it fly away that it didn’t even throw him on his back, but let him fall sittin’-wise, saddle and all, plump on the spot where he sprang from. Tim scratched his head an’ grinned like a half-worried rattlesnake as his comrades almost rolled off their saddles with laughin’. But it was no laughin’ job, for poor Tim’s leg was doubled under him, an’ broken across at the thigh. It was long before he was able to go about again, and when he did recover he found that Louise and the young clerk were spliced an’ away to Kentucky.”
“So you see what are the probable consequences, Kate, if you use your whip so obstreperously again,” cried Charley, pressing his horse into a canter.