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Updated: May 1, 2025
Jack's hand was on the latch. "And that yellow horse ain't what you can call trail-broke." "He will be, by the time I get to the mine!" Dade threw out both hands in surrender. "Oh, well you darned donkey, give me time to tell Don Andres good-by, anyway." Jack's eyes lighted with the smile Dade knew and loved to see.
The pair watered their horses, loosened their saddle-cinches, and permitted the animals to graze with reins dangling. Rathburn took his slicker pack from the rear of his saddle and spread it open on the ground. "Reckon it's safe to build a small fire here?" he asked cheerfully. "I'm powerful hungry, an' I've got some emergency provisions being trail-broke."
But he's a stayer. Look at them lungs. And look at them legs. Not a blemish. He's never been hurt or worked. Nobody ever succeeded in taking it out of him. Mountain horse, too, trail-broke and all that, being raised in rough country. Sure-footed as a goat, so long as he don't get it into his head to cut up. Don't shy. Ain't really afraid, but makes believe. Don't buck, but rears.
Think I've got nothing to do but chase around the country calling on young ladies? I've been a wage slave, Bill-Loo. Come on while I put up my horse. Poor devil, I drove cattle from Junkins' place with him, and they weren't what you could call trail-broke, either. And then I came on down here. I've been in the saddle since daylight, young lady; and Rattler's been under it."
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