Under the weight the stallion
shrank catwise, aside and down. But there was no wrench of a curb in
his mouth, no biting of the cinches. In the old days of his colthood,
a barelegged boy used to come into the pasture and jump on his bare
back. His mind flashed back to that--the bare, brown legs. That was
before he had learned that men ride with leather and steel. He waited,
holding himself strongly on leash, ready to turn loose his whole
assortment of tricks--but Perris slipped into place almost as lightly
as that dimly remembered boy in the pasture.
To the side, that line of rushing riders was yelling and waving hats.
And now the light winked and glimmered on naked guns.
"Go!" whispered Perris at his ear. "Alcatraz!"
And the flat of his hand slapped the stallion on the flank. Was not
that the old signal out of the pasture days, calling for a gallop?
He started into a swinging canter. And a faint, half-choked cry of
pleasure from the lips of his rider tingled in his ears. For your born
horseman reads his horse by the first buoyant moment, and what Red Jim
Perris read of the stallion surpassed his fondest dreams. A yell of
wonder rose from Hervey and his charging troop.
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