In a few moments the boy opened his eyes with a long deep sigh, and closed them again as if in contented slumber.

French took a flask from his pocket, opened the boy's mouth, and poured some of its contents between his lips.
At once Kalman began to cough, sat up, and gazed around in a stupid manner upon the ponies and the men.
"He's out," he said at length, with his eyes upon the pinto.
"Out?
Who's out ?" cried French.
"Judas priest!" exclaimed Jimmy, using his favourite oath.
"He means the broncho." "By Jove! he _is_ out, boy," said French, "and you are as near out as you are likely to be for some time to come.

What in great Caesar's name were you trying to do ?" "He wouldn't move," said the boy simply, "and I hit him." "Listen here, boy," said Jimmy Green solemnly, "when you go to hit a broncho again, don't take anything short of a ten-foot pole, unless you're on top of him." The boy said nothing in reply, but got up and began to walk about, still pale and dazed.
"Good stuff, eh, Jimmy ?" said French, watching him carefully.
"You bet!" said Jimmy, "genuine clay." "It is exceptionally lucky that you were standing so near the little beast," said French to the boy.

"Get into the buckboard here, and sit down." Kalman climbed in, and from that point of vantage watched the rest of the hitching process.

By skillful manoeuvring the two men led, backed, shoved the ponies into position, and while one held them by the heads, the other hitched the traces.