Young fellows placed on their good behavior are apt to get restless and
nervous, all ready to fly off into some mischief or other. Dick Venner
had his half-tamed horse with him to work off his suppressed life with.
When the savage passion of his young blood came over him, he would fetch
out the mustang, screaming and kicking as these amiable beasts are wont
to do, strap the Spanish saddle tight to his back, vault into it, and,
after getting away from the village, strike the long spurs into his sides
and whirl away in a wild gallop, until the black horse was flecked with
white foam, and the cruel steel points were red with his blood. When
horse and rider were alike fired, he would fling the bridle on his neck
and saunter homeward, always contriving to get to the stable in a quiet
way, and coming into the house as calm as a bishop after a sober trot on
his steady-going cob.
After a few weeks of this kind of life, he began to want some more fierce
excitement. He had tried making downright love to Elsie, with no great
success as yet, in his own opinion.
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