"And I said," he retorted, "that I didn't see why I
couldn't."
Phil turned to his grinning but respectful helpers. "Bring out that bay
with the blazed face."
"Great Snakes!" ejaculated Curly to Bob, as they reached the gate
leading to the adjoining corral. "His name is Patches, all right, but
he'll be pieces when that bay devil gets through with him, if he can't
ride. Do you reckon he can?"
"Dunno," returned Bob, as he unlatched the gate without dismounting. "I
thought he couldn't fight."
"So did I," returned Curly, grimly nursing his battered face. "You cut
out the horse; I can't more'n half see."
It was no trouble to cut out the bay. The big horse seemed to understand
that his time had come. All day he had seen his mates go forth to their
testing, had watched them as they fought with all their strength the
skill and endurance of that smiling, boy-faced man, and then had seen
them as they returned, sweating, trembling, conquered and subdued. As
Bob rode toward him, he stood for one defiant moment as motionless as a
horse of bronze; then, with a suddenness that gave Curly at the gate
barely time to dodge his rush, he leaped forward into the larger arena.
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