Bred In The Bone

As the young man returned, the older one asked, "Can he run?"

"Run! Want to see him move!"

Without waiting for an answer, he vaulted into the saddle and began to gather up the reins. The horse lifted his head and gathered himself together, but he did not move from his tracks.

"Wait. How far is you come to-day?" demanded Robin.

"About forty miles. I took it easy." He turned the horse's head.

The old man gave an exclamation, part oath, part entreaty, and grabbed for the reins just as the boy was turning toward the track, where a whitewashed board fence stood over four feet high.

"Wait--whar you gwine! Forty mile! Whar you gwine? Wait!"

"Over into the track. That fence is nothing."

He settled himself in the saddle, and the horse threw up his head and drew himself together. But old Robin was too quick for him. He clutched the rider by the leg with one hand at the same time that he seized the bridle with the other.