Jeff’s mouth was wide open with wonder as he watched the goings on, and when a little while later the gelding happened along a big rock, and seen him stop while the man tried to use the rock to get from it up in the saddle, Jeff wondered some more.
“By japers, I’ve seen and handled thousands of horses,” says Jeff, “but I never thought any horse ever had that much sense.”
The old cowman watched for near a half an hour while Clint tried to get on his horse. He seen the horse stand there, all patience and a helping the best he could, and finally, with the help of the rock, the favoring of the horse, and the little strength the man had, and all put together, Clint was setting in the saddle at last. The hackamore reins was hanging loose: nothing was holding that pony from bucking, stampeding, or doing anything he pleased, but he stepped slow and easy, and ears cocked ahead, packed his man to camp with the same care any human would take.
Jeff got on his horse and keeping well behind followed. What he’d just seen had got him to the point where he begin a talking to himself, his horse, and the country around.
“Yessir, by japers, and he let Clint get on him from the wrong side too, why this daggone old gentle horse I’m riding now wouldn’t let me do that—But then, maybe I better not be too sure about that, I’m beginning to believe from what I’ve just seen that there’s things going on in horses’ think tanks that’s mighty surprising and which don’t come out till the right time shows up.”
A couple of hours and the camp was reached. Jeff looked around the big corrals as he rode closer for signs of Clint and the mouse colored bronc, and sure enough, there the both of ’em are—Clint is still in the saddle and to all appearance unconscious; the gelding is standing by the corral gate, still, and waiting.
The cowman rode on towards ’em, but he soon had to stop, for he noticed as the gelding sees him how by that pony’s action, he wasn’t for standing in one spot no longer at the sight of a strange rider coming on him that way. Jeff had to maneuver around considerable to keep that horse from hightailing it. The only way he could do it was to go back the way he came till out of sight, once there he circled around till he came up on the camp from the opposite side, the corrals and a long shed was between him and the half broke horse with his unconscious rider.
Jeff left his horse out of sight, and hugging close to the shed made his way to where the mouse colored gelding had been; a peek thru a hole in the wall showed him the horse was still there, and Clint still in the saddle. How to proceed from then on was a sort of ticklish proposition. Jeff didn’t want the pony to get scared, run away and throw the hurt rider, and still, he couldn’t let the rider stay where he was.
He had to take a chance and do the best he could. Around the corner of the shed he came, and slow and easy, showed himself to the wild eyed gelding; he talked to him, and that seemed to help some, for the little horse stood his ground. Stood his ground is correct, but Jeff had hesitated somehow from coming any closer—he noticed a light in that pony’s eyes which warned him plain to keep his distance, and even though Jeff was half peeved and half leery at the stand the pony had took, he couldn’t help but admire the show of liking that half broke gelding had for the rider that was still unconscious in the saddle, and laying with his head on the pony’s bowed neck.
The horse’s actions had all been a puzzle to Jeff at first, and as he finally understood, it all left him mighty surprised and in a trance with wonder. He’d expected that horse to start running away at the sight of him, but instead, he was showing fight. The pony wasn’t wanting to go no further with the hurt rider, he wasn’t going to trust no strange human with that helpless pardner of his.
Two months or more had passed since Clint and Smoky had met in the dust of the bare corral. In that time the man and horse’d had fights; some had been mighty wicked, and the wild horse would of killed the man too if the chance had come, but all thru them fights the man had won—slow and easy, but he’d won. Then gradually Smoky begin to get confidence in the human, and then a liking; he’d got to looking for his company and would nicker with a glad feeling as he’d see that human come towards him of evenings, and he’d go the length of his picket rope to meet him.
Steady good treatment from the rider, no matter what the horse done, had won that pony’s heart, till the little horse could near be seen smiling with the happy feeling that was his every time Clint
