was--though he had questioned the new grip on the reins,
the rider's seat, his weight. There it was. The man's weight. Miguel had
been heavy, of course, but Miguel's seat had been short-lived. This man
must weigh fully as much as Miguel, and twice as much as his mistress,
and he had been on his back now a long time. There came another
something. As Pat grew aware of the weight it seemed to become heavier,
so he decided to seek relief of some sort. He dropped back into a walk,
grimly taking his comfort into his own control. And, half expecting that
the man would force him into a canter again, he continued at a walk. But
neither by word nor movement did the man show that he noticed the
change. So Pat settled to his task again, once more enjoying quiet
satisfaction.

But neither did this last. He soon found another cause for
dissatisfaction. He found it because, unconsciously, he was looking for
it. He found it this time in the tight grip on his reins, which was
setting up a sore chafing in the corners of his mouth. His mistress had
never held him so tightly. The result of it, together with his other
discomfort, was that he became sullen and antagonistic, and, descending
the slight grade to the bridge, he determined to resist. And resist he
did. He came to a sudden stop, threw down his head, pitched and bucked
frantically. His efforts carried him all over the trail, and once
dangerously near the edge and the turbulent waters below. But he found
himself unable to throw off the weight.

"Guess maybe--I made--a slight--mistake!" exploded the rider, clamping
his knees against Pat. "But go--go to it--old trader!"

Pat accepted the challenge. For this he knew it was. He leaped and
twisted; returned to earth with a jolt; pitched and tossed and bucked.
And he kept it up, fighting grimly, till he discovered its futility,
when he stopped. A moment he stood, breathing heavily, then he set out
across the bridge, whisking his tail and wriggling his ears, all in
spirited acceptance of reluctant defeat.

He did not attempt further rebellion. Slow-kindling respect stirred
within him for this man upon his back--the respect but not love which
one entertains toward the mighty, and he gained the end of the bridge
and turned south along the trail, partly reconciled. Yet he had not
rebelled in vain. The grip on his bit no longer annoyed him, and though
the weight still remained heavy, somehow it seemed more endurable now
through some cause