Before him the circle split and rolled back. He glided through, guided
by a hand that touched lightly on his neck, and in an utter silence he
was seen to turn the corner of the nearest shed and approach the
corral. Hal Dunbar, rubbing his eyes, was the first to speak.
"A trick horse!" he said. "By the Lord, a trick horse!"
"The first time I ever seen him play that trick," gasped old
Bridewell, his eyes huge and round, "except when Tod was up on him. I
dunno what's happened. It's like a dream. But there's a saddle on him
now, and that was something even Tod could never make him stand. I
dunno what's happened!"
The little crowd broke up into chattering groups. Here had been a
thing that would bear telling and retelling for many a year. In the
confusion Dunbar's man, Riley, approached his employer.
Both gratitude and shame were forgotten by Dunbar now. He gripped the
shoulder of this man and groaned, "I've lost him, Riley! The only
horse ever foaled that could have carried me the way a man should be
carried.
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