"Stop him, won't you?" shouted Put Medill, as Lightning's big feet began to splash in the water. "I want to get down."
Pete might have tried, if the halter had been in his hand, but the lowering of the great heavy sorrel head toward the cool surface below had jerked the strap from his grasp, and Lightning was a free horse. He was free, and he had at once determined not to do his after-dinner drinking just there at the river's edge. There was more and deeper water further on, and it might be better.
Four half-grown boys will fill up the back of any one horse pretty well, however large he may be, and there was not room for any more. When his head was down, there did not seem to be quite enough, and a good push would have sent Pete Burrows down the animal's neck; that is, if the two handfulls of sorrel mane he was grasping should come out.
There were boys on the bridge now, and others along-shore, and they were all making remarks, and more were coming, besides three men, and old Grandmother Medill, and Mrs. Craddock, and all three of Joe Somers's aunts, who lived with his mother, and kept the milliner shop.
"LIGHTNING WALKED STRAIGHT AHEAD."
Lightning walked straight ahead until the water arose above his knees. Horses were driven through the river right there every day, and he knew there was no danger of his getting drowned; but it was a green-head fly that stung him and made him shiver. It seemed to the boys they were going to be shivered off into the water, and they all dug their heels in hard and shouted, not very loud, "Hold on!"
That was pretty nearly in the middle, and Lightning had taken three long drinks and a short one, but his halter was as far out of reach as ever.
"He'll go across," said Joe Somers, "and we can get off."
"Perhaps he'll turn back," said Put Medill; but Pete Burrows knew better, for he could see which way Lightning turned his head.