"If you mean that mouse colored fighting son of a gun of a horse you was on," says Jeff, "why he's in the corral, and a fretting his head that I'm going to eat you up."
Clint couldn't quite get the meaning of that just then, and he asked, "I wonder if you wouldn't go take the saddle off of him and put him on the picket rope where he'd get something to eat. He's gentle, and you can handle him easy."
Jeff snorted and laughed, "gentle,——? I wouldn't try to handle him if you'd give me this whole outfit, I'm not enough of a bronc fighter no more, and that aint all, that pony is just a hankering for me to stick my beezer thru that corral."
Smoky circled around the corral not at all minding the saddle that was on him, he wasn't caring for any grass either, he was too peeved and restless. If Clint had been right side up and able, things would of been different and Smoky would of hardly even noticed the stranger.—There seems to be a heap of difference in the feelings of any thinking animal when a pardner is sick or dying,—the little horse knowed as well as any human that something had went wrong with his pardner, and the appearance of the stranger at such a time was worrying him.
The next day was well along and the sun getting high, when Jeff helped Clint on his feet and half carried him towards the corral where Smoky had put in the night. Clint staggered on alone from the gate and the little horse nickering came to meet him,—his ears was all ahead and with his eyes a shining, he looked all interest and like he wanted to ask questions. He then spotted Jeff, and at the sight of him, his expression changed, his eyes showed fire, and his ears layed back on his neck.
"Well, I'll be daggoned," says Clint as he noticed the horse's actions. He looked back at the old cowman and grinned, wondering,—but the old cowman wasn't grinning any. Jeff figgered it best for him to vanish for a spell, Smoky was unsaddled, and put on good feed and water, which all seemed to take Clint a powerful lot of time; but he finally showed up and Jeff helped him back to the house.
It was on the way over that Clint begin to speak, and on a subject that'd been on his mind for a long time. "You know, Jeff," he says, "I think the time has come for me to quit riding broncs, I feel like I better quit, specially after this last that's happened to me."
"What did happen anyway?" asks Jeff.
"It was all on account of a fool cow," starts Clint, "she'd showed signs of wanting to leave the country soon as she seen me riding up on her, and being she was good and fast, I figgered it'd be a good time to line Smoky out after her and let him turn 'er over a few times. I throwed my rope but the loop didn't land good, it just sorta sailed in front of her, and she stepped in it. About that time I jerked up my slack and I jerked it too hard. Down went the critter all in a heap and sudden, so sudden that with the speed Smoky was going he couldn't stop in time, and first thing we knowed we both was straddle the critter.
"But she didn't stay down long, she got up just at the wrong time and just right to yank Smoky's front feet from under him, raise him up in the air with me on top, and just turned us a couple of somersets before we landed on the other side.