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Page 86
This is what Bud has been waiting for. With the agility of a
cat, he swings himself into the saddle. The pony arches its back
like a bow-string, every muscle taut.
Bud jerks the reins. The horse moves forward, to find that its
legs are free. Up it goes in a long curve, alighting with his
four feet stiffly planted together. The head is down. Maddened
and frightened, the bronco bawls, like a man in a nightmare. Up
in air the animal goes again, drawing up its hind feet toward the
belly, as if it would scrape off the cinch-strap. The fore feet
are extended stiffly forward. Every time the bronco hits the
ground, the jar is like the fall of a pile-driver's weight. Bud
watches every move. When the feet hit the earth, he rises in
stirrups to escape the jolt. But always he is in the saddle, for
any unexpected move.
The horse rises on its hind legs to throw the rider. Should it
fall backward, the wind will be knocked of the animal, but Bud
will be out of the saddle before he strikes the ground, and into
it again before horse can struggle erect.
If it tries the trick again, Bud uses the quirt, lashing it about
the ears, the flanks, and under the belly. There is not a part
of the body into which the biting leather does not cut. Lashing
the flanks drives the horse forward.
The struggle has been going on for twenty minutes. Bud is
covered with sweat and dust. The horse has begun to sulk. It
will not respond to rein or quirt.
Now is the time for the steel. Bud drives the spurs deep into
its flanks. The horse plunges forward with a bounding leap.
Again the spurs rasp, and again it plunges. The bronco finds
that going ahead is the only way in which to avoid punishment.
Round and round the corral it gallops until exhausted. The sweat
is pouring off the brute in rivulets. It has taken Bud forty
minutes to give the first lesson. Easing up the bronco, Bud
swings out of the saddle, and then remounts. This is done a
half-dozen times, as the horse stands panting and blowing. Then,
with a quick movement, the saddle and bridle are flung against
the post. Bud pats the bronco on the neck and the flank, and
turns it loose for a second lesson in a couple of days. A third
will follow before the end of the week. Then he will saddle the
horses, unaided, ride them once or twice about the corral, and
finally let one of the hands give each the first lesson on the
open plains. This means a wild dash anywhere away from the
ranch. The rider must avoid holes in the ground, and keep up the
pace until the horse slows up on its own account. Four or five
of these lessons with a post-graduate course in dodging a waving
slicker, and Sage-brush will declare all of the broncos are
"plumb gentle."
The men were riding out their new string to-day. As each passed,
Parenthesis flung a jibe at him. He had resumed his bread-making
when Polly rode to the wagon.
"Hello, Parenthesis!" was her greeting. "What's the matter with
you?"
"Nothin'. This yere housekeepin' is gettin' on my nervous system
some fearful." Parenthesis struck the dough a savage whack, and
added: "I ain't cut out for housekeepin'."
"You've been cut out all right," retorted Polly, glancing at his
legs, "whatever it's for."
Parenthesis was not abashed. "Yep, fer straddlin' a hoss," he
proudly replied, as if that were the chief end of man.
Polly, thus balked in her teasing, tried a new form of badinage.
"Say, the boys are all braggin' on your bread-makin'. Won't you
give me your receipt?"
"Good cooks," said Parenthesis, "never give away their receipts.
Brings bad luck to 'em next time."
"Aw, come now, Parenthy, tell me, an' I'll let you make my
weddin'-cake."
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