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Updated: June 22, 2025
On the third of his visits he met a stranger who offered to purchase Suvy on the spot at a price of two hundred dollars. "Don't offer me a million or I might be tempted," Van told him gravely. "I'll sell you my soul for a hundred." The would-be purchaser was dry. "I want a soul I can ride." Van looked him over critically. "Think you could ride my cayuse?" "This broach?" said the man.
They came to the bank precisely as they had before, and once again, perhaps more persistently, Suvy made wild, eager efforts to scramble out where escape was impossible. Again and again he circled, pawed the bank, and turned his eyes appealingly to Van, as if for help or suggestions. At last he acknowledged defeat, or lost comprehension of the struggle.
Van had lost all sense save that of worry, love for his horse, and desire to see him win this vital struggle. A wild passion for Suvy's response to himself for a proving love in the broncho's being possessed his nature. He leaned far forward, awkwardly, following Suvy about. "I'm ashamed of you, Suvy!" he began to cry. "Suvy! Suvy, where's your pride? Why don't you do him, boy?
He leaped his broncho clean against the wall, then spurred him straight for Barger. The shot that split the air again was splattered on the rocks. Before the convict could make ready to avoid the charge, Suvy was almost upon him. He partially fell and partially leaped a little from the broncho's path, but was struck as the pony bounded by.
"Boy! not that! not that!" Already Suvy had started to rise, to drop himself backwards on his rider. He heard and obeyed. He went up no more than to half his height, then seemed to be struck by a cyclone. Had all the frightful dynamic of an earthquake abruptly focused in his being, the fearful convulsion of his muscles could scarcely have been greater.
Van nearly fell, but would not fall, and instead stood trembling, his arm by natural inclination now circling the neck of the pony. "Well, Suvy," he said not ungently, "we gave each other hell. Hereafter we're going to be friends." Beth heard him.
Suvy was somewhat exhausted by the trials already made, in vain. But into the turgid down-sweep he headed with a newly conjured vigor. Van now waited merely for the pony to get started on his way, when he lifted away from the saddle, with the water's aid, and clung snugly up to the stirrup. He swam with one hand only.
"Try to move your legs when I pull!" He wasted no time in attempting to haul the convict out himself. He led his pony quickly to the edge, took two half hitches of the rope about the pommel of the saddle, then shouted once more to his man. "Ready, Barger. Try to kick your feet." To the horse he said: "Now, Suvy, a strong, steady pull." And taking the pony's bit in hand he urged him slowly forward,
He was more than waist under, loosely clinging to his seat and giving the pony the reins. Suvy was powerful, he swam doggedly, but the current was tremendous in its sheer liquid mass and momentum. Van slipped off and swam by the broncho's side. Together the two breasted the surge of the tide, and now made more rapid progress.
Five hundred dollars, much as he needed money, would not have purchased his horse. And inasmuch as luck had been against him, he suddenly feared he might be on the point of losing Suvy now for a price he would have scorned. "Boy," he said in a murmur to the broncho, "if I thought you'd let any bleached-out anthropoid like that remain on deck, I wouldn't want you anyway savvy that?"
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