"Never hit a man in my life. I never dast to," said Annersley.

"You jest set on 'em, eh?"

"Jest set on 'em," said Annersley. "You keep tight holt to that rope.
That fool hoss acts like he wanted to go back to your camp."

Young Pete braced his feet and clung to the rope, admonishing the horse
with outland eloquence. As they crossed the arroyo, the led horse
pulled back, all but unseating Young Pete.

"Here, you!" cried the boy. "You quit that--afore my new pop takes you
by the neck and the--pants and sits on you!"

"That's the idea, son. Only next time, jest tell him without cussin'."

"He always cusses the hosses," said Young Pete. "Everybody cusses 'em."

"'Most everybody. But a man what cusses a hoss is only cussin'
hisself. You're some young to git that--but mebby you'll recollect I
said so, some day."

"Didn't you cuss him when you set on him?" queried Pete.

"For why, son?"

"Wa'n't you mad?"

"Shucks, no."