He did it on a gallop, breaking the gallop off short by fore legs stiffly planted.
Daylight fetched up against his steed's neck with clasped arms, and at the same instant, with fore feet clear of the ground, Bob whirled around.
Only an excellent rider could have escaped being unhorsed, and as it was, Daylight was nastily near to it.
By the time he recovered his seat, Bob was in full career, bolting the way he had come, and making Wolf side-jump to the bushes.
"All right, darn you!" Daylight grunted, driving in spurs and quirt again and again.
"Back-track you want to go, and back-track you sure will go till you're dead sick of it."
When, after a time, Bob attempted to ease down the mad pace, spurs and quirt went into him again with undiminished vim and put him to renewed effort.
And when, at last, Daylight decided that the horse had had enough, he turned him around abruptly and put him into a gentle canter on the forward track. After a time he reined him in to a stop to see if he were breathing painfully.
Standing for a minute, Bob turned his head and nuzzled his rider's stirrup in a roguish, impatient way, as much as to intimate that it was time they were going on.
"Well, I'll be plumb gosh darned!" was Daylight's comment.
"No ill-will, no grudge, no nothing-and after that lambasting!
You're sure a hummer, Bob."
Once again Daylight was lulled into fancied security.
For an hour Bob was all that could be desired of a spirited mount, when, and as usual without warning, he took to whirling and bolting.
Daylight put a stop to this with spurs and quirt, running him several punishing miles in the direction of his bolt.
But when he turned him around and started forward, Bob proceeded to feign fright at trees, cows, bushes, Wolf, his own shadow—in short, at every ridiculously conceivable object.
At such times, Wolf lay down in the shade and looked on, while Daylight wrestled it out.
So the day passed.
Among other things, Bob developed a trick of making believe to whirl and not whirling.
This was as exasperating as the real thing, for each time Daylight was fooled into tightening his leg grip and into a general muscular tensing of all his body.
And then, after a few make-believe attempts, Bob actually did whirl and caught Daylight napping again and landed him in the old position with clasped arms around the neck.
And to the end of the day, Bob continued to be up to one trick or another; after passing a dozen automobiles on the way into Oakland, suddenly electing to go mad with fright at a most ordinary little runabout.
And just before he arrived back at the stable he capped the day with a combined whirling and rearing that broke the martingale and enabled him to gain a perpendicular position on his hind legs.
At this juncture a rotten stirrup leather parted, and Daylight was all but unhorsed.
But he had taken a liking to the animal, and repented not of his bargain.
He realized that Bob was not vicious nor mean, the trouble being that he was bursting with high spirits and was endowed with more than the average horse's intelligence.
It was the spirits and the intelligence, combined with inordinate roguishness, that made him what he was.
What was required to control him was a strong hand, with tempered sternness and yet with the requisite touch of brutal dominance.
"It's you or me, Bob," Daylight told him more than once that day.
And to the stableman, that night:—
"My, but ain't he a looker!
Ever see anything like him?
Best piece of horseflesh I ever straddled, and I've seen a few in my time."
And to Bob, who had turned his head and was up to his playful nuzzling:—
"Good-by, you little bit of all right.
See you again next Sunday A.M., and just you bring along your whole basket of tricks, you old son-of-a-gun."
CHAPTER XII
Throughout the week Daylight found himself almost as much interested in Bob as in Dede; and, not being in the thick of any big deals, he was probably more interested in both of them than in the business game.
Bob's trick of whirling was of especial moment to him.
How to overcome it,—that was the thing.
Suppose he did meet with Dede out in the hills; and suppose, by some lucky stroke of fate, he should manage to be riding alongside of her; then that whirl of Bob's would be most disconcerting and embarrassing.
He was not particularly anxious for her to see him thrown forward on Bob's neck.
On the other hand, suddenly to leave her and go dashing down the back-track, plying quirt and spurs, wouldn't do, either.
What was wanted was a method wherewith to prevent that lightning whirl. He must stop the animal before it got around.
The reins would not do this.
Neither would the spurs.
Remained the quirt.
But how to accomplish it?
Absent-minded moments were many that week, when, sitting in his office chair, in fancy he was astride the wonderful chestnut sorrel and trying to prevent an anticipated whirl.
One such moment, toward the end of the week, occurred in the middle of a conference with Hegan.