Smoky kept on a coming and edging closer to the rock; he nosed every twig and stone along the trail till he got to within a few feet of the spot where the lion would spring. The lion wasn’t a stretched out shadow no more. He still looked like part of the rock and fitted pretty well with the stump of the scrub mahogany, but he was in a position that sure tallied up with all what was about to happen. He was ready, and still as the rock he was on, and the quiver of his long tail was a plenty to show that his wiry frame and brain was sure together and intent on one thing.
Another foot ahead and Smoky would be seeing his last of daylight. The colt had one leg raised to make that last step when there’s a rattling buzz comes from the foot of the rock; a four foot rattlesnake stretched out and reaches for Smoky’s nose and that one leg which was raised to go forward went back instead. It was all that saved him.
The lion had figgered on his victim a jumping to one side at his leap, and he’d allowed for that, but the way it happened this time was that the snake caused Smoky to jump away just as he’d started which was a little too soon according to the lion’s figgering, and what’s more Smoky went to the wrong direction about a foot with the result that he just got his claws full of Smoky’s mane and no more. He scrambled in mid air and done his best to get a hold in Smoky’s neck but even with all the action he put in his trying he struck mostly air, and then hard ground.
Smoky never waited to see if that flying shadow of sharp claws was after him or not; he’d started at the sound of the rattler and had kept a moving mighty fast ever since. A few feet of drop in the scenery only helped him make more speed and the shortcut from the trail he’d left to the trail his mammy and the bunch was on was covered in no time.
He lit in the bunch a running, and the bunch getting a hint from his wild eyed actions that all wasn’t well started a running too and for a ways they all went as though the devil was after ’em.
But the devil (if that ain’t too mild a name for the lion) wasn’t after ’em. He knowed the colt had too much speed for him and never even thought of following him, and as it was he was just a lashing himself with his long tail and mad clear thru at the thought of missing such a nice fat yearling colt as Smoky was.
From that day on Smoky dodged high rocks unless he could see the top of ’em; pine trees with stout lower limbs had him a circling too, or any other place where a lion could perch on and spring from. The little horse was gradually getting so he was satisfied to be more with the bunch and not do so much investigating; besides he’d got first hand acquaintance with most all that prowled the range, and everything in general was getting to be less of a puzzle to him.
It all kept a getting to be less of a puzzle to him till finally there come a time when Smoky got so he thought he knowed it all. He figgered he had the world by the tail and with a downhill push. Like all the other colts of his age he was just where conceit had the best of him; he got strong headed and full of mischief, and then’s when the older horses figgered him to be a regular pest and began knocking on him.
He was getting to be of size that could stand knocks too. They all took turns at him and pounded on his ribs every chance they had thru the rest of that summer, and tried to set him where he belonged; but it was slow work and Smoky was still getting away with some of the bluffs when the first snows came. He was ornery all that winter, and even though none of the horses would let him steal the grass they pawed up, he aggravated ’em a lot by making ’em think he would; and when they’d kick at him, and miss, there was some more about his actions that sure let ’em know he was getting away with something.
Then one day a strange horse showed up on the skyline and joined the bunch. A strange horse is always sort of timid when first joining a new bunch that way; and Smoky took advantage of that to show there was at least one he had buffaloed—he run the stranger around and around and kept a nipping him on the rump till the old pony was on the point of leaving and hunt new territory. That sport lasted off and on for a few days, and then one day the older horse turned and lit into Smoky. There was no battle, for Smoky was just running a bluff; and at the first turn of the events he evaporated and kept on evaporating till the stranger got cooled down a bit. After that Smoky kept his distance and acted willing to let the stranger stay with the bunch.
The winter wore on that way, and as Smoky was met hard at every ornery thing he’d do, it all got to finally leave an impression on him, and he gradually lost some of his conceit and hard headedness. But Spring came, other seasons and all kinds
