I was sick when I hit the ground in front of Peery and Milk River. It took me a little while to get up, and I had to stand still for a moment, until I could feel the ground under my feet.
“Hold him a couple of seconds—” I began.
Peery’s big frame stood in front of me.
“That’s enough,” he said. “I ain’t going to have you killed on my hands.”
I shook my head violently, trying to clear it, so I could see him better.
“Get out of my way,” I growled. “I like this. I want more of it.”
“You don’t top my pony no more,” he growled back at me. “He ain’t used to playing so rough. You’re liable to hurt him, falling off carelessly like that.”
I tried to get past him. He barred my way with a thick arm. I drove my right fist at his dark face.
He went back, busy trying to keep his feet under him.
I went over and hoisted myself up on Rollo.
I had the buckskin’s confidence by this time. We were old friends. He didn’t mind showing me his secret stuff. He did things no horse could possibly do. Looking down, I was surprised not to see his kidneys and liver—because I knew damned well he was turning himself inside out.
I landed in the same clump of brush that had got me once before.
I couldn’t see much when I got up—only the yellow of Rollo.