“Now,” said he, “we are ready to throw a hitch. Come here and help. We’ll throw a double one, because that’s stronger.”
Joe soon saw that the process consists of weaving the rope back and forth under the sides of the saddle and then crossways over the top, in such a way that when it is done the strands of rope, from above, would be seen to make a diamond. Each time the rope was passed over to Mills, he took the end, braced one foot against the horse, and pulled it taut. Joe did the same on his side.
“Won’t I hurt the horse?” he asked.
The Ranger laughed. “I give you leave, if you can,” he said.
When the rope was all used, Mills fastened the end, went over the whole thing with his hand, testing it to see if it was tight, and then finished by giving the horse a resounding slap.
“That’s the way you have to finish,” he said, “or the horse wouldn’t think you were through.”
“I wouldn’t think the horse would like to be packed much,” Joe suggested.
“Never knew one that did,” Mills replied. “Lots o’ times, while you’re throwing the hitch, that canvas band under the tail works up and sort o’ tickles the horse, and then, Oh, Boy, look out! Your plug’ll buck, and a packhorse don’t reckon he’s done a real good job o’ buckin’ till he’s covered about three square acres of ground, and deposited canned beef, tea, syrup, blankets, axes, coffee-pots and a few other things entirely over said area. Then, when you cinch him tight before you start, too, he’s likely to feel that’s goin’ to interfere with his digestion, and start buckin’. A packhorse is an ornery critter.”
But this horse, now he was packed, was quiet as a kitten, waiting for the party to start. The Ranger called to Joe’s horse, which had wandered away.
“Now mount,” said Mills.