When he hove in sight again, the black was
trotting briskly, with Phil Forrest standing erect, far back on
the animal's hips, urging him along with sharp little cries, and
dancing about as much at home as if he were on the solid ground.
The farmers looked on with wide-open mouths, too amazed to speak.
Phil uttered a shout, and set the black going about the
stack faster and faster, throwing himself into all manner of
artistic positions.
After the horse had gotten a little used to the strange work,
Phil threw down the reins and rode without anything of the sort
to give him any support.
Probably few farm barnyards had ever offered an attraction like
it before.
"Come up here!" cried the lad, to the lighter of the men.
"I'll give you a lesson."
The fellow protested, but his companions grabbed him and threw
him to old Joe's back. Phil grabbed his pupil by the coat
collar, jerking him to his feet and started old Joe going at a
lively clip.
You should have heard those farmers howl, at the ludicrous sight
of their companion sprawling all over the back of the black, with
Phil, red-faced, struggling with all his might to keep the fellow
on, and at the same time prevent himself taking a tumble!
At last the burden was too much for Phil, and his companion took
an inglorious tumble, head first into the straw at the foot of
the stack, while the farmers threw themselves down, rolling about
and making a great din with their howls of merriment.
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