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Rocking Horse was in a different mood from its brother. It was

hard to rope, and when Jed's raw-hide had fallen over its head it

was necessary to reenforce the lariat with two others. Finally

the pony had to be flung down before a saddle could be put on.

When Siegfried, who had been kneeling on its head, stepped back,

the outlaw staggered to its feet, already badly shaken, to find

an incubus clamped to the saddle.

No matter how it pitched, the human clothespin stuck to his seat,

and apparently with as little concern as if he had been in a

rowboat gently moved to and fro by the waves. Jed rode like a

centaur, every motion attuned to those of the animal as much as

if he were a part of it. No matter how it pounded or tossed, he

stuck securely to the hurricane deck of the broncho.