d. The mood of that grim breakfast,
voiceless, tense, high with portent, is still upon me.

I approach and speak harshly to the potential cinch binder, telling him
to get over there! He does not; so I let it pass. After all, he is only
a horse. Why should I terrorize him? I bridle him with a manner far from
harsh. He doesn't like the taste of the bit--not seasoned right, or
something. But at last he takes it without biting my fingers off; which
shows that the horse has no mind to speak of.

I look him calmly in the eye for a moment; then pull his head about, so
that I can look him calmly in the other eye for a moment. This is to show
the animal that he has met his master and had better not try any of that
cinch-binding stuff if he knows when he's well off. Still, I treat him
fairly. I smooth his back of little vegetable bits that cling there,
shake out the saddle blanket and tenderly adjust it. Whistling carelessly
I swing up the saddle. Dandy Jim flinches pitifully when it rests upon
him and reaches swiftly round to bite my arm off. I think this is quite
perfunctory on his part. He must have learned long since that he will
never really bite any one's arm off. His neck is not enough like a
swan's.

I adjust saddle and blanket carefully from both sides, pulling the
blanket well up under the horn of the saddle and making sure that
it sets comfortably. One should be considerate of the feelings of a
dumb beast placed at one's mercy. Then I reach for the cinch, pass it
twice through the rings, and delicately draw it up the merest trifle.
Dandy Jim shudders and moans pathetically. He wishes to convey the
impression that his ribs have been sprung. This, of course, is
nonsense. I measureably increase the pressure. Dandy Jim again
registers consternation, coughs feebly, and rolls his eyes round
appealingly, as if wondering whether the world is to sit, without
heart, and watch a poor defenseless horse being slain. He is about
to expire.

I now lead him gently about by the bridle. It occurs to me that a horse
with this curious mania for binding cinches or cinching binders--or,
in other words, a cinch binder--will be as willing to indulge in his
favourite sport with the saddle unoccupied as otherwise. He may like
it even better with no one up there; and I know I will. Nothing happens,
except that Dandy Jim stumbles stiffly and pretends to be lame. The
sun is not yet well up; still, it is a lot better. Perhaps danger for
the da