There would be no joy in making Diablo bend to his will. His
aim was, and from the first unconsciously had been, to win Diablo so
that the stallion would serve him joyously and freely out of the love
he bore him. As he thought of this, his glance rested on the long,
spoon-handled spurs of big Hal Dunbar.
Dunbar was shaking hands with Bridewell, leaning a trifle over the
little old man.
"Here's one that'll be sorry to see you ride Diablo," said Bridewell.
He pointed to Hunter. "He's been working weeks, trying to make a pet
out of the hoss."
"A pet out of him? A pet?" echoed Dunbar.
He measured Bull Hunter with a certain bright interest. The sleeves of
Bull were rolled up to the elbows and down the forearms ran the
tangling masses of muscle. But the interest of Dunbar was only
monetary. Presently his lip curled slightly, and he turned his haughty
head toward the great stallion.
"I'll do something more than pet him. Ill make something useful out of
the big brute.
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