THE LOVE OF A HORSE
"Oh, let me get up. Let me ride him for two minutes, Walter."
Walter Perkins brought his pony to a slow stop and glanced down
hesitatingly into the pleading blue eyes of the freckle-faced boy at
his side.
"Please! I'll only ride him up to the end of the block and back, and I
won't go fast, either. Let me show you how I can ride him," urged Tad
Butler, with a note of insistence in his voice.
"If I thought you wouldn't fall off----"
"I fall off?" sniffed Tad, contemptuously. "I'd like to see the pony
that could bounce me off his back. Huh! Guess I know how to ride
better than that. Say, Chunky, remember the time when the men from
Texas had those ponies here--brought them here to sell?"
Chunky--the third boy of the group--nodded vigorously.
"And didn't I ride a broncho that never had had a saddle on his back
but once in his life? Say, did I get thrown then?"
"He did that," endorsed Stacy Brown, who, because of his well-rounded
cheeks and ample girth, was known familiarly among his companions as
"Chunky." "I mean, he didn't. And he rode the pony three times around
the baseball field, too. That broncho's back was humped up like a mad
cat's all the way around. 'Course Tad can ride. Wish I could ride half
as well as he does. You needn't be afraid, Walter."
Thus reassured by Chunky's praise, Walter dropped the bridle rein over
the neck of his handsome new pony, and slid slowly to the ground.
"All right, Tad. Jump up! But don't hold him too tightly. He doesn't
like it, and, besides, he has been trained to run when you tighten up
on the rein, and father would not like it if we were to race him in
the village."
"I'll be careful."
Tad Butler needed no second invitation to try out his companion's
pony. With the agility of a cowboy, he leaped into the saddle without
so much as touching a foot to the stirrup. In another second, with a
slight pressure on the rein, he had wheeled the animal sharply on its
haunches, and was jogging off up the street at an easy gallop, both
boy and pony rising and falling in graceful, rhythmic movements, as if
in reality each were a part of the other. Tad seemed born to stirrup
and saddle.
Yet, true to his promise, the boy made no effort to increase the speed
of his mount. Nor did he go beyoud the corner named. Instead, he
circled and came galloping back, one hand resting lightly on the rein,
the other swinging easily at his side.
As he neared the two boys, Tad checked his pony, but Walter motioned
to him to continue. With a smile of keen appreciation, Tad shook out
the reins, and pony and rider swung on down the village street.
The soft breeze bad by now fanned the bright color into the face of
Thaddeus Butler, and his deep blue eyes glowed with excitement and
pleasure; for, to him, there was no happiness so great as that to be
found on the back of a swift-moving pony.
However, this was a pleasure that seldom came to Tad, for his lines
had not fallen altogether in pleasant places. The boy was now
seventeen, and from his twelfth birthday he had been almost the sole
support of his mother. His time, out of school hours, was spent
largely in doing odd jobs about the village where his services were in
demand, and on Saturday afternoons and nights he delivered goods for a
grocery store, for which latter service he earned the--to
him--munificent sum of twenty-five cents. But all of this he
accepted cheerfully and manfully. Now and then Tad was allowed to
drive the grocer's wagon to the station for goods, and at such times
his work was a positive recreation. Some day Tad hoped to have a horse
of his own. He could imagine no more perfect happiness than this. He
had determined, though, that when he did own one, it should be a
saddle horse and a speedy one at that. Yet, at the present moment the
realization of his ambition seemed indeed far away.
Walter Perkins was the son of a banker. He and Tad Butler had been
born and brought up in the little village of Chillicothe, Missouri,
where they still lived, and, despite the difference in their social
positions, had been fast friends since they were little fellows.
Chunky was the son of a merchant in a small town in Massachusetts, and
had been visiting an uncle in Chillicothe for nearly a year past.
Walter was a delicate boy, and, reared in luxury, as he had been all
his life, he had sensed few of the delights of out-door life that were
so apparent in the face of his nimble friend, Tad. It was this
delicate physical condition that had brought about the gift of the
pony. The family physician had advised it in order that the boy might
have more out-door air, and on this May morning Walter had brought the
pony out to show to his admiring friends.
"Tad's a good rider. Isn't he a beauty?" breathed Chunky, as they
watched the progress of boy and horse down the street.
"Who, Tad?" asked Walter, absorbed in the contemplation of his new
possession.
"Tad! Pooh! No; the pony, of course. I don't see anything very
fetching about Tad, do you? But I should be willing to be as freckled
as he is if I could stick on a pony's back the way he does."
"Yes, he does know how to ride," agreed Walter. "And, by the way,
father is going to get a horse for Professor Zepplin, my tutor; then
we are going off on long rides every day, after my lessons are
done. The doctor says it will be good for me. Fine to have a doctor
like that, isn't it?"
"Great! Wish I could go along."
"Why don't you?" asked Walter, turning quickly to his companion. "That
would be just the idea. What great times we three could have, riding
off into the open country! And we could go on exploring expeditions,
too, and make believe we were cowboys and--and all that sort of
thing."
Chunky shook his head dubiously. "I haven't a pony. But I wish I
had. I should like to go so much," replied the boy wistfully.
"Then, why not ask your uncle to get one for you? He will do it, I
know," urged Walter brightly, brimming over with his new plan. "Why,
I'll ask him myself."
"I did."
"Wouldn't he do it?"
"No. Uncle said I was too young, and that the first thing I would be
doing would be to break my neck. If father was here and gave his
permission, why, that would be different. Uncle said it would take my
mind off my school, besides."
"School? Why, school will not last much longer. It is May, now, and
school will be over early in June. That isn't long to wait. You go
right home, Chunky, and tell your uncle you must have a pony. Tell him
I said so. If he refuses, I'll have my father go ask him. He won't
refuse my father anything he asks. My father is a banker and everybody
does everything he wants them to, because he lends them money,"
advised Walter wisely.
"My--my uncle doesn't have to borrow money. He's got money of his
own," bristled Chunky.
"Yes, that's so. But you go ask him. Tell him about my pony and that
we are all going off for a ride every day. Say that Professor Zepplin
will be along to take care of us. And say! I'll tell you what," added
the boy eagerly.
"Yes?" urged Chunky.
"We will form ourselves into a club. Now, wouldn't that be great?"
"Fine!" glowed Chunky. "But, what kind of a club? They don't have
horses in clubs."
"We shall, in this one. That is, we shall be the club, and the ponies
will be our club-house. When we are on our ponies' backs we shall be
in our club-house. Maybe we can get Ned Rector to join us. He knows
how to ride--why, he rides almost as well as Tad."
Chunky nodded thoughtfully.
"What shall we call it? We must have some kind of a name for the
club."
"I hadn't thought of that. I'll tell you what," exclaimed Walter,
brightening, after a moment's consideration. "We will call ourselves
the Rough Riders. That's what we will do, Chunky."
"Yes, but we are not rough riders," protested Chunky. "We are only
beginners; that is, all of us except Tad, and he can't join us--just
because he's too poor to have a horse. As for us--humph! We'd be
rough riders only when we fell off!"
Walter laughed heartily.
"No," he admitted. "I guess we are not rough riders yet; but we may be
some day, after we've learned to ride better. I can't think of any
other name, can you?"
"We might call ourselves the Wild Riders," suggested Chunky.
"No, that won't do, either. It's as bad as the other name. Father'd
never let me go out at all if we called ourselves the Wild Riders,
because he would think it meant we were going to be too much like
cowboys. I guess we shall have to think it over some more. But here
comes Tad back. Suppose we ask him? He'll know what to call the club."
Tad reigned in alongside of them and pulled the pony up sharply,
patting its sleek neck approvingly, still loath to dismount.
"It's great, fellows. Wish I had a pony like him."
"So do I," echoed Chunky.
"Why, you don't have to touch the reins at all. I could ride him
without just as well as with them. All you have to do is to press your
knee against his side and he will turn, just as if you were pulling on
the rein. He's a trained pony, Walter. Did you know that?"
"That's what the man said when father bought him. Jo-Jo can walk on
his hind legs, too. But father said I mustn't try to make him do any
tricks, for fear I might get hurt."
"Hurt nothing! He wouldn't hurt a baby," objected Tad in the little
animal's defence. "I'll show you--I won't hurt him, don't be
afraid," he exclaimed leaping to the ground, stripping the rein over
the animal's head and holding it at arm's length. "If he knows how to
stand up I can make him do it. I've seen them do that in the
circus. Let me have your whip."
"I don't know about that," answered Walter doubtfully. "Yes, you may
try," he decided finally, extending the whip that he had been idly
tapping against his legging. "But don't hit him, will you?"
"Not I," grinned the freckle-faced boy, leading the pony further out
into the street. "He doesn't need to be struck."
Tad first coaxed the pony by patting it gently on the side of the
head, to which the intelligent animal responded by brushing his cheek
softly with its nose.
"See, he knows a thing or two," cried Tad. "Now, watch me!"
Standing off a few feet, the boy tapped the animal gently under the
chin with the whip.
"Up, Jo-Jo! Up!" he urged, lifting the whip into the air
insistently. At first, Jo-Jo only swished his tail rebelliously,
shaking his head until the bit rattled between his teeth.
But Tad persisted, gently yet firmly urging with voice and
whip. Jo-Jo meanwhile pawed the dirt up into a cloud of dust that
settled over the boys, finally causing a chorus of sneezes, until Tad
felt sure he observed a twinkle of amusement in the eyes of the
knowing little animal.
"Up, Jo-Jo!" he commanded almost sternly, bringing the whip sharply
against the side of his own leg.
The pony, recognizing the voice of a master, hesitated no longer. Half
folding its slender forelegs back, it rose slowly, up and up.
Walter Perkins and Stacy Brown broke into a cheer. But Tad, never for
an instant removing his gaze from Jo-Jo, held up a warning hand,
leaned slightly forward and fixed the pony with impelling eyes.
Then Tad backed away slowly. To the amazement of the others, Jo-Jo,
balancing himself beautifully on his hind legs, followed his new-found
master in short, cautious steps, the animal's head now high in the
air, its nostrils dilated, and every nerve strained to the task in
hand.
"Beautiful," breathed Walter and Chunky in chorus.
"He's a regular brick," added Chunky.
"How'd you do it, Tad!"
Before replying, the boy lowered the whip to his side, motioning to
the pony that his task was done. Jo-Jo dropped quickly on all fours,
and, walking up to Tad, rubbed his nose against the lad's cheek again.
"Good boy," soothed Tad, returning the caress, his eyes swimming with
happiness.
But as Tad stepped back Jo-Jo insistently followed, alternately
pushing his nose against the boy's face and tugging at his shirt.
"He wants to do it again, Tad," cried Chunky, enthusiastically.
The freckle-faced boy grinned knowingly.
"Got any sugar, Walter?" he asked.
Walter thrust a hand into a trousers pocket, bringing up a handful of
lumps that were far from being their natural color. But Tad grabbed
them, and an instant later Jo-Jo's quivering upper lip had closed
greedily over the handful of sweets.
"That's what the little rascal wanted," breathed Tad with a pleased
smile. "I could teach that pony to do 'most anything but talk,
fellows. I'm not so sure that he couldn't do that in his own way,
after a little time. What did you give for him?"
"Father paid the man a hundred and fifty dollars."
Tad uttered a long-drawn whistle; his face sobered. It was more money
than he ever had seen at one time in his life. Would he ever have as
much as that? The freckle-faced boy doubted it.
"We fellows were talking about getting up a club," spoke up Walter.
"Club? What kind of a club?" asked Tad absently.
"Oh, some sort of a riding club. Chunky is going to ask his uncle to
buy him a pony; then we are going out with my tutor on long rides in
the country."
Tad eyed them steadily.
"Somehow we can't just decide on the name for the new club. I thought
maybe we would call ourselves the Bough Riders. Chunky doesn't like
that name. We had an idea that, perhaps, you could give us one. What
do you say, Tad?"
"Chunky's uncle is going to get him a pony?" asked Tad a bit
unsteadily.
"We hope so," nodded Walter. "And that's not all. We are going to get
Ned Rector to join the club. He already has a pony. Wish you might
come in with us, Tad."
"Wish I might," answered Tad wistfully.
"Of course, we know you can't really, but you belong to us just the
same. You can be a sort of--of honorary member. We will let you ride
our ponies sometimes when we are in town, though, of course, when we
go out for long trips we can't take you along very well. You
understand that, don't you, Tad?"
Tad inclined his head.
"And now about the name. Got anything to suggest?"
The freckle-faced boy walked over to the pony and laid his cheek
against its nose, which he patted softly, his head averted so that the
others might not see the pain in his eyes.
"You--you might call yourselves 'The Pony Rider Boys,'" suggested
Tad, controlling his voice with an effort.