His right leg swung free.
The big roan swerved--the black in response to a word from his rider
followed the motion--and then the miracle happened. A shadow plunged
through the air; a weight thudded on the saddle of the roan; an iron
hand jerked back the reins.
Red Pete hated men and feared them, but this new weight on his back
was different. It was not the pressure on the reins which urged him to
slow up; he had the bit in his teeth and no human hand could pull down
his head; but into the blind love, blind terror, blind rage which
makes up the consciousness of a horse entered a force which he had
never known before. He realized suddenly that it was folly to attempt
to throw off this clinging burden. He might as well try to jump out of
his skin. His racing stride shortened to a halting gallop, this to a
sharp trot, and in a moment more he was turned and headed back for
Morgan's place. The black, who had followed, turned at the same time
like a dog and followed with jouncing bridle reins. Black Bart, with
lolling red tongue, ran under his head, looking up to the stallion now
and again with a comical air of proprietorship, as if he were showing
the way.
It was very strange to Red Pete.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51