"Which you'd make tar an' feathers look sick for stickin' to a thing."
Then, reading a grudging assent from Rifle-Eye, he continued: "Yep, I'll
go an' saddle," and sauntered into the corral.

In a few minutes he came back, leading the sorrel. He was saddled and
Bob-Cat had shortened up the stirrups. Wilbur jumped forward eagerly,
put his foot in the stirrup, and was up like a flash. The sorrel never
moved. The boy shook the reins a little and clucked his tongue against
his teeth without any apparent result. Then Wilbur dug his heels into
the pony's ribs.

Things began to happen. The sorrel went straight up in the air with all
four feet, coming down with the legs stiff, giving Wilbur a jar which
set every nerve twitching as though he had got an electric shock. But
he kept his seat. Then the sorrel began pacing forward softly with an
occasional sudden buck, each of which nearly threw him off and at most
of which he had to "hunt leather," or in other words, catch hold of the
saddle with his hands. Still he kept his seat.

Finding that these simpler methods did not avail, the sorrel began a
little more aggressive bucking, fore and aft, "sun-fishing" and
"weaving," and once or twice rearing up so straight that Wilbur was
afraid the sorrel would fall over backwards on him, and he had heard of
riders being killed that way. But he stole a glance at Rifle-Eye, and,
seeing that the old Ranger was looking on quite unperturbed, he realized
that there was no great danger. And still he kept his seat.

But as the sorrel warmed up to his work the boy began to realize that he
had not the faintest chance of being able to wear the pony down. It was
now only a question of how long he could stick on. He knew he would be
done if the sorrel started to roll, but as yet the beast had shown no
inclination that way. But as the bucks grew quicker and more jerky,
Wilbur began to wonder within himself whether he would prefer to pitch
over the pony's head or slide off over his tail. Suddenly, with a bound,
the pony went up in the air and gave a double wriggle as he came down
and Wilbur found himself on the ground before he knew what had happened.
The sorrel, who, as Bob-Cat had said, was a gentle beast, stood quietly
by, and the boy always afterwards declared that he could hear the horse
chuckle.

The boy got up abashed and red in the face, because several other
ranchmen had come up and were enjoying his confusion, but he tried to
put a good