"Where was you goin', Phil?" chuckled the Dean.
"You sure warn't losin' any time," laughed Curly.
And Bob, without taking his eyes from the vicious animal at the end of his taut riata, and working skillfully with his trained cow-horse to foil every wicked plunge and wild leap, grinned with appreciation, as he added, "I'll bet four bits you can't do it again, Phil, without a runnin' start."
"I just thought I'd keep Little Billy company for a spell," smiled Phil. "He looked so sort of lonesome up there."
The stranger, at first amazed that they could turn into jest an incident which might so easily have been a tragedy, suddenly laughed aloud—a joyous, ringing laugh that made Phil look at him sharply.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Acton," said Patches meekly, but with that droll voice which brought a glint of laughter into the foreman's eyes and called forth another chuckle from the Dean.
"You can take my saddle," said Phil pointedly. "It's over there at the end of the watering trough. You'll find the stirrups about right, I reckon—I ride with them rather long."
For a moment the stranger looked him straight in the eyes, then without a word started for the saddle. He was half way to the end of the watering trough when Phil overtook him.
"I believe I'd rather saddle him myself," the cowboy explained quietly, with his sunny smile. "You see, I've got to teach these horses some cow sense before the fall rodeo, and I'm rather particular about the way they're handled at the start."
"Exactly," returned Patches, "I don't blame you. That fellow seems rather to demand careful treatment, doesn't he?"
Phil laughed. "Oh, you don't need to be too particular about his feelings once you're up in the middle of him," he retorted.
The big bay, instead of acquiring sense from his observations, as Phil had expressed to the Dean a hope that he would, seemed to have gained courage and determination. Phil's approach was the signal for a mad plunge in the young man's direction, which was checked by the skill and weight of Bob's trained cow-horse on the rope. Several times Phil went toward the bay, and every time his advance was met by one of those vicious rushes. Then Phil mounted Curly's horse, and from his hand the loop of another riata fell over the bay's head. Shortening his rope by coiling it in his rein hand, he maneuvered the trained horse closer and closer to his struggling captive, until, with Bob's co-operation on the other side of the fighting animal, he could with safety fix the leather blindfold over those wicked eyes.
When at last hackamore and saddle were in place, and the bay stood trembling and sweating, Phil wiped the perspiration from his own forehead and turned to the stranger.
"Your horse is ready, sir."
The man's face was perhaps a shade whiter than its usual color, but his eyes were glowing, and there was a grim set look about his smiling lips that made the hearts of those men go out to him. He seemed to realize so that the joke was on himself, and with it all exhibited such reckless indifference to consequences. Without an instant's hesitation he started toward the horse.
"Great Snakes!" muttered Curly to Bob, "talk about nerve!"
The Dean started forward. "Wait a minute, Mr. Patches," he said.
The stranger faced him.
"Can you ride that horse?" asked the Dean, pointedly.
"I'm going to," returned Patches. "But," he added with his droll humor, "I can't say how far."
"Don't you know that he'll kill you if he can?" questioned the Dean curiously, while his eyes twinkled approval.
"He does seem to have some such notion," admitted Patches.
"You better let him alone," said the Dean. "You don't need to kill yourself to get a job with this outfit."
"That's very kind of you, sir," returned the stranger gratefully. "I'm rather glad you said that. But I'm going to ride him just the same."
They looked at him in amazement, for it was clear to them now that the man really could not ride.
The Dean spoke kindly. "Why?"
"Because," said Patches slowly, "I am curious to see what I will do under such circumstances, and if I don't try the experiment now I'll never know whether I have the nerve to do it or not." As he finished he turned and walked deliberately toward the horse.
Phil ran to Curly's side, and the cowboy at his foreman's gesture leaped from his saddle. The young man mounted his helper's horse, and with a quick movement caught the riata from the saddle horn and flipped open a ready loop.
The stranger was close to the bay's off, or right, side.
"The other side, Patches," called Phil genially. "You want to start in right, you know."
Not a man laughed—except the stranger.
"Thanks," he said, and came around to the proper side.
"Take your time," called Phil again. "Stand by his shoulder and watch his heels. Take the stirrup with your right hand and turn it to catch your foot. Stay back by his shoulder until you are ready to swing up. Take your time."
"I won't be long," returned Patches, as he awkwardly gained his seat in the saddle.
Phil moved his horse nearer the center of the corral, and shook out his loop a little.
"When you're ready, lean over and pull up the blindfold," he called.
The man on the horse did not hesitate. With every angry nerve and muscle strained to the utmost, the powerful bay leaped into the air, coming down with legs stiff and head between his knees. For an instant the man miraculously kept his place. With another vicious plunge and a cork-screw twist the maddened brute went up again, and this time the man was flung from the saddle as from a gigantic catapult, to fall upon his shoulders and back in the corral dust, where he lay still. The horse, rid of his enemy, leaped again; then with catlike quickness and devilish cunning whirled, and with wicked teeth bared and vicious, blazing eyes, rushed for the helpless man on the ground.
With a yell Bob spurred to put himself between the bay and his victim, but had there been time the move would have been useless, for no horse could have withstood that mad charge. The vicious brute was within a bound of his victim, and had reared to crush him with the weight of heavy hoofs, when a rawhide rope tightened about those uplifted forefeet and the bay himself crashed to earth. Leaving the cow-horse to hold the riata tight, Phil sprang from his saddle and ran to the fallen man. The Dean came with water in his felt hat from the trough, and presently the stranger opened his eyes. For a moment he lay looking up into their faces as though wondering where he was, and how he happened there.
"Are you hurt bad?" asked the Dean.
That brought him to his senses, and he got to his feet somewhat unsteadily, and began brushing the dust from his clothes. Then he looked curiously toward the horse that Curly was holding down by the simple means of sitting on the animal's head. "I certainly thought my legs were long enough to reach around him," he said reflectively. "How in the world did he manage it? I seemed to be falling for a week."
Phil yelled and the Dean laughed until the tears ran down his red cheeks, while Bob and Curly went wild.
Patches went to the horse, and gravely walked around him. Then, "Let him up," he said to Curly.
The cowboy looked at Phil, who nodded.
As the bay regained his feet, Patches started toward him.
"Here," said the Dean peremptorily. "You come away from there."
"I'm going to see if he can do it again," declared Patches grimly.
"Not to-day, you ain't," returned the Dean. "You're workin' for me now, an' you're too good a man to be killed tryin' any more crazy experiments."
At the Dean's words the look of gratitude in the man's eyes was almost pathetic.