“I think it will be better if Lafe drives,” objected Isobel. “I am so reckless, and you don’t know the road, as he does. The only thing is Rocket––Lafe has about trained him out of his tricks. But I should warn you that the hawss has been rather vicious.”
“Tom will ride him,” confidently stated Mrs. Blake.
Her husband took the bridle reins of the big horse and mounted him with the agility of a cowboy. For a moment Rocket stood motionless. Then, whether because of Blake’s weight or the fact that he was a stranger, all the beast’s newly acquired docility vanished. He began to plunge and buck even more violently than when first mounted by Ashton.
Half a hundred Stockchuteites––all the residents 150 of the town and several floaters––had come down to inspect the palatial private car and its passengers. At Rocket’s first leap these highly interested spectators broke into a murmur of joyful anticipation. They were about to see the millionaire tenderfoot pull leather.
Yet somehow the event failed to transpire. Blake sat the flat saddle as if glued fast to it. His knees and legs were crushing against the sides of the leaping, whirling beast with the firmness of an iron vise. He held both hands upraised, away from the “leather.”
Presently Rocket’s efforts began to flag. Instead of seeking to quiet the frantic beast, Blake began to whoop and to strike him with his hat. Thus taunted, Rocket resorted to his second trick. He took the bit in his teeth and started to bolt. The crowd scattered before the rush of the runaway. But they need not have moved. Blake reached down on each side of the beast’s outstretched neck and pulled. Tough-mouthed as he was, Rocket could not resist that powerful grip. His head was drawn down and backwards until his trumpet nostrils blew against his deep chest. After half a dozen wild plunges, he was forced to a stand, snorting but subdued.
“That’s some riding, Miss Chuckie!” called the burly sheriff of the county. “Your guest forks a hawss like a buster.” 151
The girl rode forward beside Blake, her face radiant. She paid him the highest of compliments by taking his riding as a matter of course; but in her eyes was a look strangely like that of his wife’s fond gaze,––a look of pride at his achievement, rather than admiration.
“We’ll ride ahead of the team to keep clear of the dust,” she remarked.
He twisted about and saw that Ashton was starting to drive after them. His wife’s elderly maid was waving her handkerchief from one of the car windows. The porter and the manservant stood at attention. He exchanged a nod and smile with his wife, patted Rocket’s arched neck and clicked to him to start.