The packing of the buckboard was a business calling for some skill.  In the box seat were stowed away groceries and small parcels for the ranch and for settlers along the trail.  Upon the boards behind the seat were loaded and roped securely, sides of pork, a sack of flour, and various articles for domestic use.  Last of all, and with great care, French disposed a mysterious case packed with straw, the contents of which were perfectly well known to the boy.

The buckboard packed, there followed the process of hitching up, —­a process at once spectacular and full of exciting incident, for the trip to the Crossing was to the bronchos, unbroken even to the halter, their first experience in the ways of civilized man.  Wild, timid and fiercely vicious, they were brought in from their night pickets on a rope, holding back hard, plunging, snorting, in terror, and were tied up securely in an out shed.  There was no time spent in gentle persuasion.  French took a collar and without hesitation, but without haste, walked quietly to the side of one of the shuddering ponies, a buckskin, and paying no heed to its frantic plunging, slipped it over his neck, keeping close to the pony’s side and crowding it hard against the wall.  The rest of the harness offered more difficulty.  The pony went wild at every approach of the trailing straps and buckles.  Kalman looked on in admiration while French, without loss of temper, without oath or objurgation, went on quietly with his work.

“Have to put a hitch on him, Jimmy, I guess,” said French after he had failed in repeated attempts.

Jimmy took a thin strong line of rope, put a running noose around the pony’s jaw, threw the end over its neck and back through the noose again, thus making a most cruel bridle, and gave the rope a single sharp jerk.  The broncho fell back upon its haunches, and before it had recovered from its pain and surprise, French had the harness on its back and buckled into place.

The second pony, a piebald or pinto, needed no “Commache hitch,” but submitted to the harnessing process without any great protest.

“Bring him along, Jimmy,” said French, leading out the pinto.

But this was easier said than done, for the buckskin after being faced toward the door, set his feet firmly in front of him and refused to budge an inch.

“Touch him up behind, boy,” said Green to Kalman, who stood by eager to assist.

Kalman sprang forward with a stick in his hand, dodged under the poles which formed the sides of the stall, and laid a resounding whack upon the pony’s flank.  There was a flash of heels, a bang on the shed wall, a plunge forward, and the pony was found clear of the shed and Kalman senseless on the ground.

“Jimmy, you eternal fool!” cried French, “hold this rope!” He ran to the boy and picked him up in his arms.  “The boy is killed, and there’ll be the very deuce to pay.”

He laid the insensible lad on the grass, ran for a pail of water and dashed a portion of it in his face.  In a few moments the boy opened his eyes with a long deep sigh, and closed them again as if in contented slumber.  French took a flask from his pocket, opened the boy’s mouth, and poured some of its contents between his lips.  At once Kalman began to cough, sat up, and gazed around in a stupid manner upon the ponies and the men.