There was a strange light in Dexter's eyes.

To each of them the experience was not only without precedent but rather unpleasant.
"Ride him out in the middle here, away from that well," directed the camera man.
"You--you better lead him out," suggested the rider.

"I can feel him tremble already.

He--he might break down under me." Metta Judson, from the back porch, here came into the piece with lines that the author had assuredly not written for her.
"Giddap, there, you Dexter Gashwiler," called Metta loudly and with the best intentions.
"You keep still," commanded the rider severely, not turning his head.
What a long way it seemed to the ground! He had never dreamed that horses were so lofty.

"Better lead him," he repeated to his camera man.
Lowell Hardy grasped the bridle reins, and after many vain efforts persuaded Dexter to stumble away from the well.