He got off his horse, walked a ways, and peeking thru the tall grass seen the whole goings on at a glance. Fifty yards below him was a mouse colored horse,—looked like a half broke bronc to him on account of the way the hackamore was rigged,—but that horse didn't act like half broke. He was going thru a performance that most gentle broke range horses wouldn't put up with, and that was to half carry and half drag a man, and on the wrong side.
Jeff recognized that man as his "bronc peeler" Clint, and he was all for rushing down to see what had happened and help, but he held back,—he wasn't sure but what the mouse colored horse would scare and run away at the sight of him, and he couldn't tell but what Clint's hands was fastened to the saddle horn the way he was hanging on.
He could see there was still life in the rider, but if the man was conscious he wasn't showing very good sense by hanging on the wrong side of a half broke horse that way. Still, as he watched, Jeff begin to wonder. He noticed for one thing that the horse was headed straight for camp, Clint's camp, and then there was another thing he noticed and which made him wonder and watch more than ever—The mouse colored gelding wasn't dragging his man, he was more kinda helping him along seemed like, each step that horse took was with care and in favor of the man alongside; the pony watched every move that man made, and if the steps sorta lagged or hesitated he stopped or slowed down till the man braced up some and went again.
Jeff's mouth was wide open with wonder as he watched the goings on, and when a little while later the gelding happened along a big rock, and seen him stop while the man tried to use the rock to get from it up in the saddle, Jeff wondered some more.
"By japers, I've seen and handled thousands of horses," says Jeff, "but I never thought any horse ever had that much sense."
The old cowman watched for near a half an hour while Clint tried to get on his horse. He seen the horse stand there, all patience and a helping the best he could, and finally, with the help of the rock, the favoring of the horse, and the little strength the man had, and all put together, Clint was setting in the saddle at last. The hackamore reins was hanging loose; nothing was holding that pony from bucking, stampeding, or do anything he pleased, but he stepped slow and easy, and ears cocked ahead, packed his man to camp with the same care any human would take.
Jeff got on his horse and keeping well behind followed. What he'd just seen had got him to the point where he begin a talking to himself, his horse, and the country around.
"Yessir, by japers, and he let Clint get on him from the wrong side too, why this daggone old gentle horse I'm riding now wouldn't let me do that—But then, maybe I better not be too sure about that, I'm beginning to believe from what I've just seen that there's things going on in horses' think tanks that's mighty surprising and which don't come out till the right time shows up."
A couple of hours and the camp was reached. Jeff looked around the big corrals as he rode closer for signs of Clint and the mouse colored bronc, and sure enough, there the both of 'em are,—Clint is still in the saddle and to all appearance unconscious; the gelding is standing by the corral gate, still, and waiting.
The cowman rode on towards 'em, but he soon had to stop, for he noticed as the gelding sees him how by that pony's action, he wasn't for standing in one spot no longer at the sight of a strange rider coming on him that way. Jeff had to manouver around considerable to keep that horse from hightailing it. The only way he could do it was to go back the way he came till out of sight, once there he circled around till he came up on the camp from the opposite side, the corrals and a long shed was between him and the half broke horse with his unconscious rider.