pleased with that, and after a brief wait tried to bite the other ankle. Alden promptly kicked him harder than before.
Evidently that wasn’t the right way to overcome the conceited young man, so what did Bucephalus do but suddenly buck? He arched his back, jammed his hoofs together and bounced up and down as if the ground had suddenly become red hot. Alden hadn’t expected anything of the kind, and came within a hair of being unhorsed. He saved himself, braced his legs and body and then let the animal do his best or worst. The youth was sorry he had no spurs, for he would have been glad to drive them into the sides of the mischievous brute. The latter bucked until tired, then spun around as if on a pivot and finally dashed off on a dead run.
Alden let him go unrestrained, knowing he was taking the right course, for he saw plenty of hoof prints in the ground over which they skimmed. It was not difficult for our young friend to keep his seat, and he was rather pleased with the liveliness of the animal.
“There won’t be much of this left in you at the end of fifteen miles, ’Cephy, and I have no objection so long as it doesn’t block the game.”
