He got the chance to admire a very stiff pair of shoulders and a
neck to match for his answer.
"I wasn't referring to your manner, m' son," he chuckled, after
he had watched Good Indian jerk the latigo loose and pull off the
saddle, showing the wet imprint of it on Keno's hide. "I wish
the weather was as cool!"
Good Indian half turned with the saddle in his hands, and slapped
it down upon its side so close to Baumberger that he took a hasty
step backward, seized Keno's dragging bridle-reins, and started
for the stable. Baumberger happened to be in the way, and he
backed again, more hastily than before, to avoid being run over.
"Snow blind?" he interrogated, forcing a chuckle which had more
the sound of a growl.
Good Indian stopped in the doorway, slipped off the bridle, gave
Keno a hint by slapping him lightly on the rump, and when the
horse had gone on into the cool shade of the stable, and taking
his place in his stall, began hungrily nosing the hay in his
manger, he came back to unsaddle Huckleberry, who was nodding
sleepily with his under lip sagging much like Baumberger's while
he waited.
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