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Updated: May 22, 2025
It was wonderful, the comprehension in the broncho's mind. But the pull was an awful thing. The rope came taut and began to be strained, and Suvy was sweating as he labored. Out on the end of it, bitten by the loop, that slipped ever tighter about him, the human figure was bent over sharply, between the two contending forces.
Van dismounted from his pony's back and picked up one of his hoofs. "Worn down pretty flat," he told the animal. "Perhaps if I walk we can make it." He started on foot up the tinkling way, watching the broncho with solicitude. Suvy followed obediently, but the pointed rocks played havoc with his feet.
Mounted on Suvy, his outlaw of the day before, he rode from Goldite joyously. After all, what was the odds? He had been no better off than now at least a hundred times. At the worst he still had his partners and his horse, a breakfast aboard, and a mountain ahead to climb.
"You'll have to do better, anyhow," he observed, concluding preparations with Suvy. "There you are. Get on. Father Time with hobbles on could beat us getting a move." He started off, leaving her to mount by herself. She managed the matter somewhat stiffly, suppressing a groan at the effort, and then for an hour she was gently pummeled into limberness as the pony followed Van.
Napoleon added: "But Cayuse ain't been on board, you bet. He likes something more old-fashioned than Suvy. Split my bowsprit, I wouldn't tow no horse into port which I was afraid to board. When I was bustin' bronchos I liked 'em to be bad." "Yes," agreed Gettysburg, "so bad they couldn't stand up." A bright glitter came for a moment in Van's blue eyes.
Gratified to discover sufficient food and bedding for himself and his pony, Van made no complaint. At six in the morning he was rousing up the blacksmith, fortunately not yet gone to join the reservation rush. Suvy was shod, and at seven o'clock he and Van were again at Glenmore's cabin. His man was in waiting. In his hand he held an envelope, unsealed. "Mr.
He mounted to the saddle that had been the seat of hell, and in joy unspeakable Suvy walked away, in response to the pressure of his knees. All the following day, which was Thursday, two small companies were out in the hills.
Indeed, it appeared that Suvy was indifferent that a cow would have shown a manner no less docile or resigned. He did look at Van with a certain expression of surprise and hurt, or so, at least, the horseman hoped. Then the man on his back shook up the reins, gave a prick with the spurs, and Suvy moved perhaps a yard. The rider pricked again, impatiently.
The men responded as if in some pain of the heart they could not escape, thus to see Van Buren so completely wrapped up in his horse. Then some all but groaned to behold the bucking cease. It seemed as if Suvy had quit. The man in the saddle eased. "Boy!" yelled Van, in a shrill, startling cry that made the pony shiver. He had seen some sign that no one but himself could understand.
Without further ado he placed Beth's letter in his hat, then rode his pony down the bank and into the angry-looking water. Suvy halted a moment uncertainly, then, like his master, determined to proceed. Five feet out he was swimming, headed instinctively up the stream and buried deep under the surface. Van still remained in the saddle.
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