"Whoa! yuh son of sin!" yelled Morgan, wrenching the pony's ear. "Stand still, or I'll cave in yore slats!"
"Kick him again," advised Loudon, flicking the end of his rope across the back of a yellow beast with a black mane and tail.
The yellow horse stopped trotting instantly. He was rope-broke. It was unnecessary to "fasten," thanks to Loudon's training.
"They say yuh oughtn't to exercise right after eatin'," continued Loudon, genially. "An' yo're mussin' up this nice corral, too, Chuck."
"I'll muss up this nice little gray devil!" gasped Chuck. "When I git on him I'll plow the hide offen him. —— his soul! He's half mule."
"He takes yuh for a relative!" called Jimmy, who had come up unobserved. "Relatives never do git along nohow!"
Jimmy fled, pursued by pebbles. The panting and outraged Chuck returned to his task of passing the rear cinch. Still swearing, he joined Loudon at the gate. The two rode away together.
"That sorrel o' Blakely's," observed Chuck, his fingers busy with paper and tobacco, "is shore as pretty as a little red wagon."
"Yeah," mumbled Loudon.
"I was noticin' him this mornin'," continued Chuck Morgan. "He's got the cleanest set o' legs I ever seen."