The Ranger slowly turned his head in silent rebuke, but although Bob-Cat
was conscious of it, he was enjoying the fun too much to stop.
"You know he couldn't ride the sorrel, Bob-Cat," said Rifle-Eye
reproachfully.
"But I can ride him, I know," said Wilbur. "I'm a good rider, really I
am. And he looks gentle, besides. He is gentle, isn't he, Bob-Cat?"
"He's playful enough," was the reply, "some like a kitten, an' he surely
is plenty restless in his habits. But where he shines is nerves. Why,
pard, he c'd make a parcel of females besieged by a mouse look as if
they was posin' for a picter, they'd be so still by comparison. But he's
gentle, all right."
"I wouldn't want to try it if he was vicious, Rifle-Eye," said the boy
appealingly, "but I really can ride, and he looks like a good horse."
"Are you buyin' this horse for your own pleasure or the work o' the
Service? You're goin' to do your ridin' on my range, an' I reckon you'll
admit I have some say."
"But I can break him to the work of the Service. Do let me try him!"
Wilbur's persistence appeared in every look and word. "I don't see why I
can't try, anyway, and then if I can't do it, there's no harm done."
"Can you throw a rope?" queried the Ranger.
"No," returned the boy promptly. "I never learned. But I can try."
"If you can't rope, how do you expect to saddle him? These ain't farm
horses that you c'n harness or saddle while they eat oats out of your
hand.
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