Next came
the bridle, which was not so easily put in place. It was secured at
last, after which the lad stepped back to wipe the perspiration from
his face and forehead. Dark spots on his khaki blouse showed where
the sweat had come through the tough cloth.
"Now I'll ride him," Butler announced.
For the next quarter of an hour there followed an exhibition that won
the admiration of all who saw it. All the bucking and kicking that
the pinto could do failed to unseat Tad Butler. When finally he rode
back to the group, Mr. Mustang's head was held straight out. Once more
the sleepy look had come into his eyes, but it was not the same crafty
look that had been there before. He was conquered, at least for the
time being.
"Now, Chunky, you may try him."
"What do you think of that for riding?" demanded Stacy, turning to
the guide.
"Oh, he'll ride one of these days," answered the guide.
"I believe you're a grouch," snorted the fat boy, as he swung into the
saddle, quickly thrusting his toes into the stirrups, expecting to be
bucked up into the air.
But nothing of the sort followed. The mustang was as meek as could be.
Stacy rode the animal up and down the field until satisfied that the
pinto was thoroughly broken. Stacy was an object of interest to all.
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