Be gentle, but firm. Teach him to obey the slightest
touch of rein, to stand when you throw your bridle on the ground, to come
at your whistle. Always remember this. He's a desert-bred horse; he can
live on scant browse and little water. Never break him of those best
virtues in a horse. Never feed him grain if you can find a little patch
of browse; never give him a drink till he needs it. That's one-tenth as
often as a tame horse. Some day you'll be caught in the desert, and with
these qualities of endurance Silvermane will carry you out."
Silvermane snorted defiance from the cedar corral next morning when the
Naabs, and Indians, and Hare appeared. A half-naked sinewy Navajo with a
face as changeless as a bronze mask sat astride August's blindfolded
roan, Charger. He rode bareback except for a blanket strapped upon the
horse; he carried only a long, thick halter, with a loop and a knot.
When August opened the improvised gate, with its sharp bayonet-like
branches of cedar, the Indian rode into the corral. The watchers climbed
to the knoll. Silvermane snorted a blast of fear and anger. August's
huge roan showed uneasiness; he stamped, and shook his head, as if to rid
himself of the blinders.
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