Shaken first up, then down, and from one side to the other, Toby stretched himself out at full length, clasping the horse around the neck as the patched bridle broke, and shouting "Whoa!" at the full strength of his lungs.
After running fully fifty yards, until it seemed to Toby that his head and his body had been pounded into one, the horse stopped, leaned one heel up against the other, and stood as if dreamily asking whether they wanted any more circus out of him.
"Couldn't anybody ride him, he jolts so," said Toby to his partners, as they came running up to where he stood. "You see, in the circus they had big, wide saddles, an' the hosses didn't go anything like him."
"Well, we can fix a saddle," said Bob, thoughtfully; "but I don't know as we could do anything to the hoss."
"Perhaps old Whitey'll go better, 'cause she's lame," suggested Reddy, feeling that considerable credit was due him for having made it possible to test the animal's qualities in so short a time.
"I wouldn't wonder if this one would be all right when he gets a saddle on an' is trained," said Joe; and then he added, quickly, "I hain't got anything more to do to-day, an' I'll stay up here an' train him."
The partners were only too glad to accept this offer; and while Joe led the horse back to the supposed ring, Ben gave a partial exhibition of his acrobatic feats, omitting the most difficult, owing to the uneven surface of the land.
Then the partners retired to the shade of some alder bushes, where they could fight mosquitoes and talk over their plans at the same time, while Joe was perspiring in his self-imposed task of educating the blind horse.