[CHAPTER VIII]
WHITEY LEARNS TO RIDE
"Look here, Whitey," said Bill Jordan, one afternoon, "kin yo' ride a hoss? If yo' an' this here Injun is goin' in cahoots, yo' gotta ride some!"
"I'm not what any one would call a good rider," said Whitey, "but I guess I can manage to stay on. I used to ride the horses down at Coney Island, and once or twice when we were in the country; but these horses are different. They don't wait till you get your seat before they whirl 'round and beat it!"
"Some of 'em is a mite hasty," admitted Bill, "but we got one or two nice, ol' hobby-hosses in the corral thet'll be 'bout yo'r size. Buck," he shouted to one of the cow-punchers nearby, "go bring thet ol' sorrel out'n the corral—thet is, pervidin' he's able to walk. Yo'll probably find him leanin' up agin the fence to keep from fallin' down. This here Whitey person is goin' to set on him fer a spell an' take a nap."
Buck took a halter and went into the corral, and soon returned leading the sorrel, which did not seem to be in any danger of falling down if he didn't have something to lean against. In fact, the sorrel was a pretty lively animal, and Whitey had his misgivings; but he knew that Bill Jordan would not allow him to mount a fractious or vicious horse, inexperienced as he was, and he made up his mind that he would "go through" with it. If he were to spend any length of time in the West, he knew that the sooner he learned to ride, the better off he would be, and the more he could enter into the work and play of the ranch—and, indeed, the very life of the West with which the horse is so inseparably associated. Then, too, he admired and marveled at the way Injun rode his pony, and the spirit of rivalry within him made him determine that he would not remain outclassed, for any long time, by a boy of his own age in any department of out-door life.
Bill watched Whitey narrowly, and it is probable that if he had seen any exhibition of "the white feather," he would have stopped the performance. For he knew that confidence is the main thing, and if the boy were timid, he might come to grief. But Whitey evidently did not have "cold feet."
"Buck, you keep the ol' rack-o'-bones from fallin' apart, an' I'll give the kid a hand," said Bill, offering to boost Whitey into the saddle.
"Let me try to mount myself," said Whitey. "I may be out on the prairie some time and it won't be convenient to come way back here to get you to boost me up."
"Correct," said Bill, tickled over the boy's refusal of his assistance. "It's always well to play a lone hand—ef yo' got the cards to do it!" And Whitey swung himself onto the horse in as near an imitation of the way of the ranchmen as he could.