Smoky was taking the change, from the life he'd led to what he was now going thru kinda hard, harder than the average wild horse ever does, and Clint layed it that the little horse had more brains than the average, more sensitive maybe, and more able to realize.
"I guess I'd better lay off of him to-day," decides the cowboy, as he noticed very little change in him even late that afternoon, "he's having a hard time trying to figger things out as it is."
It was bright and early the next morning when Clint looked out of the bunk house door and noticed Smoky out on the creek bottom. It appeared that the little horse, after figgering and figgering, had come to some sort of decision, and that done and settled had went to eating again, for that's what he was doing when Clint looked out,—Smoky was eating like he was trying to make up for the time he'd lost, and he seemed all at peace with everything in general.
The cowboy grinned, "I know what that son of a gun has decided on," he remarked. "He's going to fight, and I see where I'm sure due for a tossing from that pony to-day."
Clint done his day's work, and after riding and lining out nine head of rough and kinky broncs, went to where Smoky was picketed and led him into the corral where he'd been initiated a couple of days before. He was some kind of a different horse than what he'd been that day, his head was higher and more with just one purpose. He didn't shy and snort at every little thing like he did that first time, and Clint noticed that he never seemed to see the saddle as it was eased on his back and cinched.
"I don't like the sound of them 'rollers' that's making that noise in them nostrils of yours," he remarked; "they sound to me like you meant business."
Smoky did mean business, and even tho Clint was doing considerable kidding, he meant business too, he wasn't going to let the little horse get away with anything, for he realized that if he did it'd be harder than ever to persuade him to be good, he'd have to be treated rough, and Clint didn't want to treat him rough.
The cowboy seen the light in Smoky's eyes and understood it, he understood his every action, and they all meant fight.
"I'm glad to see so much spirit in you old boy," he says as he pulled his hat down, "but if you want to fight I'll have to fight too, and here's hoping the best one of us wins;—let's go."
Smoky only shook his head a little as Clint put his hand on his left eye and mounted, he didn't want to notice a little thing like that, which was just as much a warning from him for that cowboy to get set, set well and solid, for in this next performance things was a going to pop worse than ever.