The Young Lion Hunter | Page 7

quick, decisive action leaped astride.
Then he spurred Wings. The pinto bolted, and in his plunging scattered
dust and gravel. Not liking the spurs, he settled into a run. Hal was now
more at ease in the saddle. It was not so much confidence as
desperation. Perhaps the shortened stirrups helped him to a firmer
leg-hold. At any rate, he rode gracefully and appeared to good
advantage. He pulled Wings, and when the fiery pinto snorted and

tossed his head and preferred his own way a touch of spur made him
turn round. In this manner Hal ran Wings along the corral fence, across
the open space, to and fro, successfully turning him at will. Then as he
let up the pinto wheeled and spread his legs and tried to get his head
down.
"Hold him up!" yelled Purcell.
"Now's the time, kid!" added Jim Williams. "Soak him with the spurs!"
Hal could not keep the pinto from getting his head down or from
beginning to buck, but he managed to use the long spurs. That made a
difference. It broke Wing's action. He did not seem to be able to get to
going. He had to break and bolt, then square himself again, and try to
buck.
"Stick on, Hal!" I yelled. "If you stay with him now you'll have him
beat."
We all yelled, and Ken Ward danced around in great danger of being
ridden down by the furious pinto. Like a burr Hal stuck on. There were
moments when he wabbled in the saddle, lurched one way and then
another, and again bounced high. Once we made sure it was to be a
victory for the pinto, but Hal luckily and wonderfully regained his seat.
And after that by degrees he appeared to get a surer, easier swing, while
Wings grew tired of bucking and more tired of being spurred.
Purcell jumped into the corral and began to throw down the bars of the
gate.
"Kid, run him out now!" shouted Jim. "Drive him good an' hard! Make
him see who's boss!"
Wings did not want to leave the corral, and Hal, in pulling him, lifted
him off his forefeet. Another touch of spurs sent the pinto through the
gate. Hal spurred him down the road.
We watched Wings going faster and faster, gradually settling into an

even gait, till he was on a dead run.
"Thet pinto has wings, all right," remarked Jim. "Purcell named him
some ways near right. An' between us the kid's no slouch in the saddle.
He won't have thet little fire-eatin' hoss broke all in a minnit, but he'll
be able to ride him. An' thet'll let us hit the trail."

CHAPTER III
- OFF FOR COCONINA
The Navajo Indian whom I had engaged through Purcell did not show
up till we were packing next morning. He was a copper-skinned,
raven-haired, beady-eyed desert savage. When Ken and Hal had
finished breakfast I called them out of the cottage to meet him.
"Here, boys, shake hands with Navvy. Here, Navvy, shake with heap
big brother--heap little brother."
"Me savvy," said the Indian, extending his hand to Ken. "How."
Then he turned to Hal. "How."
Hal, following Ken, gingerly shook hands with Navvy. From the look
of the lad he was all at sea, and plainly disappointed. No doubt in his
mind dwelt images and fancies of picturesque plumed Indians, such as
he had evolved from Western tales. Indeed Navvy would have been a
disappointment to a most unromantic boy, let alone one as imaginative
and full of wild ideas as Hal was. Navvy's slouch hat and torn shirt and
blue jeans, some white man's cast-off apparel, were the things that
disillusioned Hal. And I saw that he turned once more to his pinto. A
new saddle and bridle, spurs, chaps, lasso, canteen, quirt, a rifle and a
scabbard, and a slicker--these with spirited Wings were all-satisfying
and gave him back his enchantment.
"Where'll the Indian ride?" asked Purcell.

"Why, he can climb on the stallion," I replied.
Purcell's stallion Marc was a magnificent bay, very heavy and
big-boned. We had strapped a blanket on him and roped some sacks of
oats over that. The other pack-horses were loaded with all they could
carry.
"He can climb on, I reckon, but he'll darn soon git off," remarked
Purcell, dryly.
"Then he'll have to walk," I rejoined.
"That'll be best," said Purcell, much relieved. "Leslie, have a care of
Marc. You'll strike some all-fired bad trails in the Ca–on, where many a
hoss has slipped an' gone over. Don't drive Marc or pull him. Just coax
him a little."
"All right, Purcell. We'll be careful...Now, boys. We're late starting,
and it's thirty miles to the first water."
I led the train, driving our pack horses before