They were tied there
loosely, the circle was completed, and Diablo, examining them
critically, found nothing wrong. Then, a dozen times in a single
evening, the straps were drawn up, tighter and tighter, until they
touched him. At this he became excited, and it required all the
resourcefulness of Bull to quiet him. But in three days the barley
sack and its queer-looking additions had been changed for a true
saddle--with the cinches drawn up tight enough for riding. And this
without eliciting a single bucking spasm from Diablo!
Not even to Tod did Bull Hunter impart his great tidings. He had not
yet climbed into that real saddle; Diablo had not yet heard the creak
of the stirrup leathers under the weight of his rider. Indeed, there
was still much to be done before the happy day when he saddled the
black stallion and took down the bars of the corral gate and rode him
out. And rode him without a bit! For on the point of steel in the
mouth of Diablo, Bull Hunter knew that the horse would be against it
resolutely.
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