Part 4 (2/2)
”Yes, to-morrow by sun,” said Banion, swinging out of saddle and forgetting any errand he might have had. ”Then it's on to Oregon!”
He nodded to Woodhull, who little more than noticed him. Molly advanced to where Banion's horse stood, nodding and pawing restively as was his wont. She stroked his nose, patted his sweat-soaked neck.
”What a pretty horse you have, major,” she said. ”What's his name?”
”I call him p.r.o.nto,” smiled Banion. ”That means sudden.”
”He fits the name. May I ride him?”
”What? You ride him?”
”Yes, surely. I'd love to. I can ride anything. That funny saddle would do--see how big and high the horn is, good as the fork of a lady's saddle.”
”Yes, but the stirrup!”
”I'd put my foot in between the flaps above the stirrup. Help me up, sir?”
”I'd rather not.”
Molly pouted.
”Stingy!”
”But no woman ever rode that horse--not many men but me. I don't know what he'd do.”
”Only one way to find out.”
Jed, approaching, joined the conversation.
”I rid him,” said he. ”He's a goer all right, but he ain't mean.”
”I don't know whether he would be bad or not with a lady,” Banion still argued. ”These Spanish horses are always wild. They never do get over it. You've got to be a rider.”
”You think I'm not a rider? I'll ride him now to show you! I'm not afraid of horses.”
”That's right,” broke in Sam Woodhull. ”But, Miss Molly, I wouldn't tackle that horse if I was you. Take mine.”
”But I will! I've not been horseback for a month. We've all got to ride or drive or walk a thousand miles. I can ride him, man saddle and all.
Help me up, sir?”
Banion walked to the horse, which flung a head against him, rubbing a soft muzzle up and down.
”He seems gentle,” said he. ”I've pretty well topped him off this morning. If you're sure--”
”Help me up, one of you?”
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