Part 4 (1/2)

Says it'll make 'em _loco_, so'st you kin go right up an' rope 'em. Now, ain't that the d----dest fool thing yet? Say, some o' these pilgrims that comes out here ain't got sense enough to last over night.”

”Battersleigh is fond of horses,” said Franklin, ”and he's a rider, too.”

”That's so,” admitted Curly. ”He kin ride. You orter see him when he gits his full outfit on, sword _an_' pistol by his side, uh-huh!”

”He has a horse, then?”

”Has a boss? Has a hoss--has--what? Why, o' course he has a boss. Is there anybody that ain't got a hoss?”

”Well, I haven't,” said Franklin.

”You got this one,” said Curly.

”How?” said Frank, puzzled.

”Why, you won him.”

”Oh, pshaw!” said Franklin. ”Nonsense! I wasn't wrestling for your horse, only for a ride. Besides, I didn't have any horse put up against yours. I couldn't lose anything.”

”That's so,” said Curly. ”I hadn't thought of that. Say, you seem like a white sort o' feller. Tell you what I'll just do with you. O' course, I was thinkin' you'd win the whole outfit, saddle an' all. I think a heap o' my saddle, an' long's you ain't got no saddle yet that you have got used to, like, it don't make much difference to you if you get another saddle. But you just take this here hoss along. No, that's all right. I kin git me another back to the corral, just as good as this one. Jim Parsons, feller on the big bunch o' cows that come up from the San Marcos this spring, why, he got killed night before last. I'll just take one o' his hosses, I reckon. I kin fix it so'st you kin git his saddle, if you take a notion to it.”

Franklin looked twice to see if there was affectation in this calm statement, but was forced, with a certain horror, to believe that his new acquaintance spoke of this as a matter of fact, and as nothing startling.

He had made no comment, when he was prevented from doing so by the exclamation of the cowboy, who pointed out ahead.

”There's Batty's place,” said he, ”an' there's Batty himself. Git up, quick; git up, an' ride in like a gentleman. It's bad luck to walk.”

Franklin laughed, and, taking the reins, swung himself into the saddle with the ease of the cavalry mount, though with the old-fas.h.i.+oned grasp at the cantle, with the ends of the reins in his right hand.

”Well, that's a d----d funny way gittin' on top of a hoss,” said Curly.

”Are you 'fraid the saddle's goin' to git away from you? Better be 'fraid 'bout the hoss.--Git up, Bronch!”

He slapped the horse on the hip with his hat, and gave the latter a whirl in the air with a shrill ”Whoooop-eee!” which was all that remained needful to set the horse off on a series of wild, stiff-legged plunges--the ”bucking” of which Franklin had heard so much; a manoeuvre peculiar to the half-wild Western horses, and one which is at the first experience a desperately difficult one for even a skilful horseman to overcome. It perhaps did not occur to Curly that he was inflicting any hards.h.i.+p upon the newcomer, and perhaps he did not really antic.i.p.ate what followed on the part either of the horse or its rider. Had Franklin not been a good rider, and accustomed to keeping his head while sitting half-broken mounts, he must have suffered almost instantaneous defeat in this sudden encounter. The horse threw his head down far between his fore legs at the start, and then went angling and zigzagging away over the hard ground in a wild career of humpbacked antics, which jarred Franklin to the marrow of his bones. The air became scintillant and luminously red. His head seemed filled with loose liquid, his spine turned into a column of mere gelatine. The thudding of the hoofs was so rapid and so punis.h.i.+ng to his senses that for a moment he did not realize where he actually was. Yet with the sheer instinct of horsemans.h.i.+p he clung to the saddle in some fas.h.i.+on, until finally he was fairly forced to relax the muscular strain, and so by accident fell into the secret of the seat--loose, yielding, not tense and strung.

”Go it, go it--whooop-e-e-e!” cried Curly, somewhere out in a dark world.

”Ee-eikee-hooo! Set him fair, pardner! Set him fair, now! Let go that leather! Ride him straight up! That's right!”

Franklin had small notion of Curly's locality, but he heard his voice, half taunting and half encouraging, and calling on all his pluck as he saw some hope of a successful issue, he resolved to ride it out if it lay within him so to do. He was well on with his resolution when he heard another voice, which he recognised clearly.

”Good boy, Ned,” cried out this voice heartily, though likewise from some locality yet vague. ”R-ride the divil to a finish, me boy! Git up his head, Ned! Git up his head! The murdering haythin' brute! Kill him!

Ride him out!”

And ride him out Franklin did, perhaps as much by good fortune as by skill, though none but a shrewd horseman would have hoped to do this feat. Hurt and jarred, he yet kept upright, and at last he did get the horse's head up and saw the wild performance close as quickly as it had begun. The pony ceased his grunting and fell into a stiff trot, with little to indicate his hidden pyrotechnic quality. Franklin whirled him around and rode up to where Battersleigh and Curly had now joined. He was a bit pale, but he pulled himself together well before he reached them and dismounted with a good front of unconcern. Battersleigh grasped his hand in both his own and greeted him with a shower of welcomes and of compliments. Curly slapped him heartily upon the shoulders.

”You're all right, pardner,” said he. ”You're the d----dest best pilgrim that ever struck this place, an' I kin lick ary man that says differ'nt.

He's yore horse now, sh.o.r.e.”

”And how do ye do, Ned? G.o.d bless ye!” said Battersleigh a moment later, after things had become more tranquil, the horse now falling to cropping at the gra.s.s with a meekness of demeanour which suggested innocence or penitence, whichever the observer chose. ”I'm glad to see ye; glad as ivver I was in all me life to see a livin' soul! Why didn't ye tell ye was coming and not come ridin' like a murderin' Cintaur--but ay, boy, ye're a rider--worthy the ould Forty-siventh--yis, more, I'll say ye might be a officer in the guards, or in the Rile Irish itself, b'gad, yes, sir!--Curly, ye divvil, what do ye mean by puttin' me friend on such a brute, him the first day in the land? And, Ned, how are ye goin' to like it here, me boy?”