“I bet you’re sore to-night,” said Tom.
“I bet I am, too. You try him. Gee, he’s a fine old horse. You ought to see him come down a trail—just as careful. Wow! and some trail, too!”
Joe dismounted, stiffly, with an “Ouch!” and Tom climbed into the saddle. Popgun looked mildly around, to see what the change meant, and then trotted obediently off.
Joe watched, laughing. There was no doubt that Tom bounced. He bounced as much as the women. The harder he tried not to, the more he bounced.
“See, you got to do it this way,” said Joe, as the other scout came back. He started to mount again, with a leap, but his legs were so stiff they’d hardly work.
“Very graceful, very graceful indeed!” Tom taunted. “Why don’t you get a job in the movies, you’re so graceful?”
“Maybe I will,” Joe answered, finally getting into his saddle. “Now look—here’s the way.”
He hit Popgun with his heels, and started up the trail, but before he was out of sight a second cavalcade, with a cowboy at the head, came thundering past. Popgun turned, and in spite of Joe’s cries and tugs at the rein, insisted on galloping with it. Hanging helpless to his saddle horn, Tom saw Joe tearing past, in the middle of the crowd, and disappearing toward the hotel.
Five minutes later he returned, looking very sheepish.
“I see just how to do it,” Tom taunted. “Joe, you’ve got speed, but no control!”