That wasn't so bad.
Merton began to feel the thrill of it. He even lounged in the saddle
presently, one leg over the pommel, and seemed about to roll another
cigarette while another art study was made. He continued to lounge
there while the artist packed his camera. What had he been afraid
of? He could sit a horse as well as the next man; probably a few
little tricks about it he hadn't learned yet, but he'd get these,
too.
"I bet they'll come out fine," he called to the departing artist.
"Leave that to me. I dare say I'll be able to do something good with
them. So long."
"So long," returned Merton, and was left alone on the back of a
horse higher than people would think until they got on him. Indeed
he was beginning to like it. If you just had a little nerve you
needn't be afraid of anything. Very carefully he clambered from the
saddle. His old pal shook himself with relief and stood once more
with bowed head and crossed forelegs.
His late burden observed him approvingly. There was good old Pinto
after a hard day's run over the mesa. He had borne his beloved owner
far ahead of the sheriff's posse, and was now securing a moment's
much-needed rest.
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