any kind soever. I tried to approach him with soothing words, but he
persistently backed away until we stood looking at each other at the
utmost distance of his outstretched neck and my outstretched arm. At
this point Jack came to my assistance, got the pony by the other side of
the bridle, and held him fast till I got into position to mount. Taking
a firm grip of the horn of the Mexican saddle, I threw my leg over his
back. The next instant I was flying over his head. My only emotion was
one of surprise, the thing was so unexpected. I had fancied myself a
fair rider, having had experience of farmers' colts of divers kinds, but
this was something quite new. The half-breed stood looking on, mildly
interested; Jack was smiling, but the boy was grinning with delight.

"I'll take the little beast," said Jack. But the grinning boy braced me
up and I replied as carelessly as my shaking voice would allow:

"Oh, I guess I'll manage him," and once more got into position. But no
sooner had I got into the saddle than the pony sprang straight up into
the air and lit with his back curved into a bow, his four legs gathered
together and so absolutely rigid that the shock made my teeth rattle.
It was my first experience of "bucking." Then the little brute went
seriously to work to get rid of the rustling, flapping thing on his
back. He would back steadily for some seconds, then, with two or three
forward plunges, he would stop as if shot and spring straight into the
upper air, lighting with back curved and legs rigid as iron. Then he
would walk on his hind legs for a few steps, then throw himself with
amazing rapidity to one side and again proceed to buck with vicious
diligence.

"Stick to him!" yelled Jack, through his shouts of laughter. "You'll
make him sick before long."