missing from his head. "No buck in him!" unctuously observed Dad, without lifting his chin off the rail. "Ain't there?" said Paddy Maloney, grinning cynically. "Just you wai't!"
It seemed to take the heart out of Dave, but he said nothing. He hitched his pants and made a brave effort to spit—several efforts. And he turned pale.
Paddy was now holding Callaghan's head at arm's-length by the bridle and one ear, for Dave to mount.
A sharp crack of thunder wont off right overhead. Dave did n't hear it.
"Hello!" Dad said, "we're going to have it—hurry up!"
Dave did n't hear him. He approached the horse's side and nervously tried the surcingle—a gi'eenhide one of Dad's workmanship. "Think that'll hold?" he mumbled meekly.
"Pshaw!" Dad blurted through the rails—"Hold! Of course it'll hold—hold a team o' bullocks, boy."
"'S all right, Dave; 's all right—git on!" From Paddy Maloney, impatiently.
Paddy, an out-and-out cur amongst horses himself, was anxious to be relieved of the colt's head. Young horses sometimes knock down the man who is holding them. Paddy was aware of it.
Dave took the reins carefully, and was about to place his foot in the stirrup when his restless eye settled on a wire-splice
