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Updated: May 8, 2025
"You think that's it, eh?" rejoined Belward, as he tossed a shilling to a beggar. "Maybe, too, your great Saracen to this tot of a broncho, and the grand homme to little Jacques Brillon." Jacques was tired and testy. The other laid his whip softly on the half-breed's shoulder. "See, my peacock: none of that.
Weldon, meanwhile, was allowing the little gray broncho to pick her own dainty way out of the shambles about her feet. Then, once free from the litter of men and horses, he turned her head to the spot where, he had been told, his squadron were gathering together their diminished forces. As he rode slowly onward, he was surprised to see how low the sun had dropped.
But that wasn't a nice thing to do. It's all right to play tricks, but I hope you won't be so cruel as to use a spur on a dumb animal, the way you did, even if he is an ill-tempered broncho. You might have broken Chunky's neck, too." Ned's face flushed. "It was a mean trick, I'll admit. Didn't strike me so at the time. Shall I ask Chunky's pardon?" "Do as you think best.
"What's the matter with Shock?" suggested someone; "he's a good strong man." There was a general laugh. "You're the man, Shock. You would clear out those saloons." "Can you ride a broncho, Shock?" At the good-natured chaff Shock blushed a deeper red than usual. No one expected much of poor Shock.
The rider who was to take the place of the one nearing the station, would rise, quickly put the saddle on his broncho, and be all ready, when the pony arrived, to snatch the saddle-bags from him whom he was to relieve, and in another moment dash down the trail mountainward.
At its edge he dismounted, and after removing the bridle so that his horse could drink and graze more comfortably, threw himself at full length upon the short grass. The well-trained broncho would not stray far, and both needed rest. The coyote was still in his thoughts, but his mood had changed.
Perhaps it was a broken rail, or maybe a great boulder had toppled down the mountainside and lay upon the track; but the important thing was that suddenly, without a second's warning, the engine bucked like a balky broncho, and after one or two mad plunges along the roadbed, toppled over the bank and rolled into the gulley below.
From the latter emerged a solitary figure astride a broncho, and as he ascended the topmost rise he glanced below him at the placid stream and beyond it into Mexico. As he sat quietly in his saddle he smiled and laughed gently to himself.
Mulcachy had originated aphorisms of his own which he continually enunciated, among which were: "Take it from me, when an animal won't give way to pain, it can't be broke. Pain is the only school-teacher." "Just as you got to take the buck out of a broncho, you've got to take the bite out of a lion." "You can't break animals with a feather duster. The thicker the skull the thicker the crowbar."
He'd been celebratin' some and lookin' upon the likker when it was red, and he was so far gone that I guess he'd have slept somewhere on the road if his broncho hadn't had more sense than him and brought him home. He was too soused to know his name, and he didn't need no urgin' to tumble into his bunk and sleep it off.
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