True, he looked up in some dismay when the
girth was tightened. Not once in all his years had he been saddled.
He was used to having things loose around his waist.
The girth went still tighter. Dexter glanced about with genuine
concern. Someone was intending to harm him. He curved his swanlike
neck and snapped savagely at the shoulder of his aggressor, who
kicked him again in the aide and yelled, "Whoa, there, dang you!"
Dexter subsided. He saw it was no use. Whatever queer thing they
meant to do to him would be done despite all his resistance. Still
his alarm had caused him to hold up his head now. He was looking
much more like a horse.
"There!" said Merton Gill, and as a finishing touch he lashed the
coiled clothesline to the front of the saddle. "Now, here! Get me
this way. This is one of the best things I do--that is, so far."
Fondly he twined his arms about the long, thin neck of Dexter, who
tossed his head and knocked off the cowboy hat. "Never mind that--
it's out," said Merton. "Can't use it in this scene." He laid his
cheek to the cheek of his pet. "Well, old pal, they're takin' yuh
from me, but we got to keep a stiff upper lip.
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