e end.

At two Lowell Hardy found his subject casting the rope at an inattentive
Dexter. The old horse stood in the yard, head down, one foot crossed
nonchalantly before the other. A slight tremor, a nervous flickering of
his skin, was all that ensued when the rope grazed him. When it merely
fell in his general neighbourhood, as it oftener did, Dexter did not
even glance up.

"Good stuff!" applauded the artist. "Now just stand that way, holding
the noose out. I want to make a study of that."

He rapidly mounted his camera on a tripod and put in a plate. The study
was made. Followed several studies of the fighting face of Two-Gun
Benson, grim and rigid, about to shoot from the hip. But these were
minor bits. More important would be Buck Benson and his old pal, Pinto.
From the barn Merton dragged the saddle, blanket, and bridle he had
borrowed from the Giddings House livery stable. He had never saddled a
horse before, but he had not studied in vain. He seized Dexter by a wisp
of his surviving mane and simultaneously planted a hearty kick in the
beast's side, with a command, "Get around there, you old skate!" Dexter
sighed miserably and got around as ordered. He was both pained and
astonished. He knew that this was Sunday. Never had he been forced to
work on this day. But he meekly suffered the protrusion of a bit between
his yellow teeth, and shuddered but slightly when a blanket and then
a heavy saddle were flung across his back. True, he looked up in some
dismay when the girth was tightened. Not once in all his years had he
been saddled. He was used to having things loose around his waist.

The girth went still tighter. Dexter glanced about with genuine concern.
Someone was intending to harm him. He curved his swanlike neck and
snapped savagely at the shoulder of his aggressor, who kicked him again
in the aide and yelled, "Whoa, there, dang you!"

Dexter subsided. He saw it was no use. Whatever queer thing they meant
to do to him would be done despite all his resistance. Still his alarm
had caused him to hold up his head now. He was looking much more like a
horse.

"There!" said Merton Gill, and as a finishing touch he lashed the coiled
clothesline to the front of the saddle. "Now, here! Get me this way.
This is one of the best things I do--that is, so far." Fondly he twined
his arms about the long, thin neck of Dexter, who tossed his head and
knocked off the cowboy hat. "Never mind that--it's out," said Merton.