G. B. Lancaster

“ Reuben had not the pride which makes a man care for the pride of his kind. He huddled his greatcoat about him, and wore round stiffly.
“Anderton’s the fust horse-breaker this side chance. I ain’t goin’ ter hev no bloomin’ Syracuse top o’ that colt. ’Is full brother died dumb-mad on the rein, an’ this one is outcast slap through. Near killed Jolly, he did, an’ Pat Barnes.”
Tony blocked the closing door with his foot. The sap of boyhood was hot in his cheeks, but his temper was under command. A man who would handle horses is schooled to that—first, last, and all hours in between. ”

“ Children gaped through the rails on their way from the schools, and half the fence-line went home to their dinners. The rabbiter pulled out his pipe, looked at it sadly as his gorge rose, and dropped it back in his pocket.
“Must a-bin worse’n I thought,” he said. “No smokin’ fur me this week—an’ I had the nerve o’ that boy onst! But he won’t break the horse. I seen men like him—lots. You can kill ’em by inches, but they’ll never be broke.”
Some one in authority was speaking to Reuben. The old man rocked on the rail and chuckled. ”

“ Turn ’im loose on the ’ills agin—that’s all ’e’s fit fur. Let ’im run wi’ the mob an’ be darned. Tony, will yer come now, eh?”
Tony came. To them on the fence he said stoutly that he was beaten—drummed clean out of camp. Then he locked Reuben’s door against his prayers and curses, fell upon the bed, and shivered and cried with pure body-and-nerve ache. It is not nice to go out to fly a kite and then lose it when it has pulled you into the ditch.
Reuben saddled for home in the morning. The colt’s ribs were not pretty to look at, but he carried himself with the dignity of a conqueror. ”

“ Reuben nodded agreement.
“’E’s a man, that colt, fur all ’e’s a outcast. ’E’ll fight ’is ekils knee ter knee, an’ no quarter. ’E’ll be tender as a woman wi’ the ’Atter what is a child an’ cud load ’im up wi’ the Tour o’ Babble an’ ’isself as roof. But ’e’ll ’ave no man ’is master. ”