Calumet also, was not averse to
a rest and had straightened and lay, an arm under his head, waiting.
Betty smiled, for though he appeared to be in a position which might
result in a crushed leg or foot, she knew that he was in no danger,
because the heavy ox-bow stirrup afforded protection for his foot,
while the wide seat of the saddle kept the upper part of his leg from
injury. She had seen the cowboys roll under their horses in this
manner many times, deliberately--it saved them the strenuous work of
alighting and remounting. They had done it, too, for the opportunity
it afforded them to rest and to hurl impolite verbiage at their horses.
But Calumet was silent. She rode a little closer to him, to look at
him, and when his eyes met hers; she saw that his spirit was in no way
touched; that his job of subduing the black was not yet finished and
that he purposed to finish it.
"We're goin' in a minute," he said to her, his voice a little husky.
"I'd thank you to bring my hat. I don't reckon you'll be able to keep
up with us, but I reckon you'll excuse me for runnin' away from you."
He had scarcely finished speaking before the black struggled to rise.
Calumet helped him by keeping a loose rein and lifting his own body.
And when the black swung over and got to its feet, Calumet settled
firmly into the saddle and instantly jammed his spurs home into its
flanks.
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