It didn't set right some way, and Mr.Pryor had jerked, spurred, and mauled, until there was a big space tramped to mortar.

Laddie slid his fingers beneath the leather, eased it a little, and ran his hands over the fretful creature's head.

It just stopped, stood still, pushed its nose under his arm, and pressed against his side.

Mr.Pryor arose in one stirrup, swung around and alighted.

He looped an arm through the bridle rein, and with both hands gripped his whipstock.
"How the devil do you do it ?" he asked, as if he were provoked.
"First, the bridle was uncomfortable; next, you surely know, Mr.Pryor, that a man can transfer his mental state to his mount." Laddie pointed to the churned up earth.
"THAT represents your mental state; THIS"-- he slid his hand down the neck of the horse--"portrays mine." Mr.Pryor's face reddened, but Laddie was laughing so heartily he joined in sort of sickly-like.
"Oh I doubt if you are so damnably calm!" he cried.
"I'm CALM enough, so far as that goes," said Laddie.