have him to hack about for
six months in return for the breaking-in. Dave was acquiring a local
reputation for his skill in handling colts.

They had been at "Callaghan"--as they christened the colt--since
daylight, pretty well; and had crippled old Moll and lamed Maloney's
Dandy, and knocked up two they borrowed from Anderson--yarding the
rubbish; and there was n't a fence within miles of the place that he
had n't tumbled over and smashed. But, when they did get him in, they
lost no time commencing to quieten him. They cursed eloquently, and
threw the bridle at him, and used up all the missiles and bits of hard
mud and sticks about the yard, pelting him because he would n't stand.

Dave essayed to rope him "the first shot," and nearly poked his eye out
with the pole; and Paddy Maloney, in attempting to persuade the
affrighted beast to come out of the cow-bail, knocked the cap of its
hip down with the milking-block. They caught him then and put the
saddle on. Callaghan trembled. When the girths were tightened they
put the reins under the leathers, and threw their hats at him, and
shouted, and "hooshed" him round the yard, expecting he would buck with
the saddle. But Callaghan only trotted into a corner and snorted.
Usually, a horse that won't buck with a saddle is a "snag." Dave knew
it. The chestnut he tackled for Brown did nothing with the saddle. HE
was a snag. Dave remembered him and reflected. Callaghan walked
boldly up to Dave, with his head high in the air, and snorted at him.
He was a sorry-looking animal--cuts and scars all over him; hip down;
patches and streaks of skin and hair missing from his head. "No buck
in him!" unctuously observed Dad, without lifting his chin off the
rail. "Ain't there?" said Paddy Maloney, grinning cynically. "Just
you wait!"

It seemed to take the heart out of Dave, but he said nothing. He
hitched his pants and made a brave effort to spit--several efforts.
And he turned pale.

Paddy was now holding Callaghan's head at arms'-length by the bridle
and one ear, for Dave to mount.

A sharp crack of thunder went off right overhead. Dave did n't hear it.

"Hello!" Dad said, "We're going to have it--hurry up!"

Dave did n't hear him. He approached the horse's side and nervously
tried the surcingle--a greenhide one of Dad's workmanship. "Think
that'll hold?" he mumbled meekly.

"Pshaw!" Dad blurted through the rails--"Hold! Of course it'll
hold--hold a team o' b