"Did
you hear that? This wise one wants me to try to ride without spurs.
Who taught you to ride, eh?"
"I don't know much about it," confessed Bull humbly, "but I know
you're apt to cut him up badly with those big spurs."
"And what the devil difference does that make to you?" cried Dunbar
with heat. "And what do you mean by all these fool suggestions? I'm
riding the horse!"
Bull drew back, downheaded. Hal Dunbar cast one contemptuous glance
toward him and then stepped to the side of Diablo. The stallion was
quivering and crouching with fear and anger, and shaking his head from
time to time to get clear of the bandage which blinded him and made
him helpless. Now and then he reared a little and came down on
prancing forefeet, and Bull noted the spring and play of the fetlock
joints. The whole running mechanism of the horse, indeed, seemed
composed of coiled springs. Once released, what would the result be?
And the first hope entered his mind, the first hope since he had seen
the proud form of Hal Dunbar.
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