Weldon's lips shut tight; but his eyes
rarely blazed. These wild, frightened creatures taxed his patience
and his resource; but they hardly touched his temper in the least.
"What's the use of thrashing a beast that's mad with terror?" he
answered one critical amateur who had watched the game from a safe
distance. "The creature is in a funk, as it is; there's no use in
adding to it. All I'm after is to teach 'em that saddles and bridles
don't bite. Treat 'em decently and sit tight, and they'll come right
and learn to trust you in the end."
And, as mount after mount was delivered over to the waiting
authorities, it came to be a matter of general belief that the
regimental rough-rider knew his business, albeit he accomplished it
more by dint of urging than by many blows. Six weeks of this work
had told upon him, told in the right direction. Under the brown
skin, the muscles stood out like knotted cords; his nerves were
steady; he ate like a wolf and slept the dreamless sleep of a
healthy child. To the outward eye, his face changed but little. Its
outlines were more rugged, the curves of his lips a bit more
resolute; but that was all.
Now and then, amid the merry group at the camp fire, he sat silent,
while he let his mind range away to the southward.
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