When it merely fell in his general neighbourhood, as it
oftener did, Dexter did not even glance up.
"Good stuff!" applauded the artist. "Now just stand that way,
holding the noose out. I want to make a study of that."
He rapidly mounted his camera on a tripod and put in a plate. The
study was made. Followed several studies of the fighting face of
Two-Gun Benson, grim and rigid, about to shoot from the hip. But
these were minor bits. More important would be Buck Benson and his
old pal, Pinto. From the barn Merton dragged the saddle, blanket,
and bridle he had borrowed from the Giddings House livery stable. He
had never saddled a horse before, but he had not studied in vain. He
seized Dexter by a wisp of his surviving mane and simultaneously
planted a hearty kick in the beast's side, with a command, "Get
around there, you old skate!" Dexter sighed miserably and got around
as ordered. He was both pained and astonished. He knew that this was
Sunday. Never had he been forced to work on this day. But he meekly
suffered the protrusion of a bit between his yellow teeth, and
shuddered but slightly when a blanket and then a heavy saddle were
flung across his back.
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