So the day passed. Among other things, Bob developed
a trick of making believe to whirl and not whirling.
This was as exasperating as the real thing, for each
time Daylight was fooled into tightening his leg grip
and into a general muscular tensing of all his body.
And then, after a few make-believe attempts, Bob
actually did whirl and caught Daylight napping again
and landed him in the old position with clasped arms
around the neck.
And to the end of the day, Bob continued to be up
to one trick or another; after passing a dozen automobiles
on the way into Oakland, suddenly electing to go mad
with fright at a most ordinary little runabout.
And just before he arrived back at the stable he
capped the day with a combined whirling and rearing
that broke the martingale and enabled him to gain
a perpendicular position on his hind legs. At
this juncture a rotten stirrup leather parted, and
Daylight was all but unhorsed.
But he had taken a liking to the animal, and repented
not of his bargain. He realized that Bob was
not vicious nor mean, the trouble being that he was
bursting with high spirits and was endowed with more
than the average horse’s intelligence.
It was the spirits and the intelligence, combined
with inordinate roguishness, that made him what he
was. What was required to control him was a
strong hand, with tempered sternness and yet with
the requisite touch of brutal dominance.
“It’s you or me, Bob,” Daylight
told him more than once that day.
And to the stableman, that night:—
“My, but ain’t he a looker! Ever
see anything like him? Best piece of horseflesh
I ever straddled, and I’ve seen a few in my
time.”
And to Bob, who had turned his head and was up to
his playful nuzzling:—
“Good-by, you little bit of all right.
See you again next Sunday A.M., and just you bring
along your whole basket of tricks, you old son-of-a-gun.”
Throughout the week Daylight found himself almost
as much interested in Bob as in Dede; and, not being
in the thick of any big deals, he was probably more
interested in both of them than in the business game.
Bob’s trick of whirling was of especial moment
to him. How to overcome it,—that was
the thing. Suppose he did meet with Dede out
in the hills; and suppose, by some lucky stroke of
fate, he should manage to be riding alongside of her;
then that whirl of Bob’s would be most disconcerting
and embarrassing. He was not particularly anxious
for her to see him thrown forward on Bob’s neck.
On the other hand, suddenly to leave her and go dashing
down the back-track, plying quirt and spurs, wouldn’t
do, either.
What was wanted was a method wherewith to prevent
that lightning whirl. He must stop the animal
before it got around. The reins would not do
this. Neither would the spurs. Remained
the quirt.
