Freddy the Cowboy Read Online Free Page A

there ain’t anything to be scared of.”
    â€œAh, who’s scared!” said Quik.
    â€œWhy, I guess you are,” said the horse. “Tain’t anything to be ashamed of; all rodents are timid.”
    â€œWho you calling a rodent?” Quik demanded belligerently.
    â€œWell, you’re a mouse, aren’t you?” said the horse with a grin. “Or do my eyes deceive me and are you a hippopotamus?”
    â€œAw, quit trying to be funny!” Quik snapped. “Nobody can call me a rodent and get away with it!”
    â€œWhy it only means that you’re an animal that gnaws,” said Freddy. “Rats and mice are rodents, just the same as all cats are felines, and all…”
    â€œWhat you waiting for?” Mr. Flint called. He was too shortsighted to see Quik on the fence post. “You scared of him?”
    Freddy climbed up part way on the fence and flopped into the saddle. “I guess we’re both scared, Quik,” he said. “But it isn’t anything to be ashamed of. He’s promised not to bounce us off. By the way, horse, what’s your name?”

    Freddy flopped into the saddle.

    â€œCyclone’s what they call me around here,” the horse said. “Kind of silly name, ain’t it? Just call me Cy.”
    â€œO.K., Cy,” said Freddy, taking a firm grip of the saddle horn, “Let’s go. Come on, Quik. Oh, come on! Are you a man or are you a mouse?”
    This is a question which always enrages mice, because it suggests that while men are bold and fearless, mice are the most timid and cowardly creatures on earth. Of course this isn’t so. Mice are small, and they keep out of the way of larger animals. No mouse would walk right up to a man, any more than a man would walk right up to an elephant or a grizzly bear. But many heroic deeds have been performed by mice. If more people knew about them they wouldn’t be so scornful of these courageous little animals.
    â€œOh, so I’m scared, hey?” Quik shouted. He made a flying jump from the post and landed on the horse’s nose, and stood there, looking straight into his eyes. “O.K., you go on and do your stuff, and we’ll see who sticks on longest—me or this big hunk of fat pork here.” He ran up higher and made a safety belt of some of the coarse hair of the horse’s forelock, which he wrapped around his middle and tied. “Go on, go on; what you waiting for?”
    The horse turned his head and winked at Freddy. “Kind of a tough crowd you run with, pig,” he said. “Sounds like he comes from Texas. They breed some powerful wild mice out there.” Then he turned and walked slowly up towards the woods. “Look at Cal,” he said under his breath. “He’s hoping I’ll throw you and maybe break your neck, and then he’ll have me and the fifty dollars both.”
    Freddy was too busy holding on to pay much attention to Mr. Flint. Cy’s walk was only a gently swaying movement, but it was a long way to the ground and he held on tightly to the saddle horn. He couldn’t reach the stirrups, but when they got into the woods the horse had him get down and showed him how to shorten the straps so that when he climbed back into the saddle his feet were supported. By the time they came down past the Big Woods into the Bean pastures Freddy had been taught how to steer by drawing the rein across the horse’s neck, and how to hold himself in the saddle, and Cy had changed his gait to a sort of running walk which he called a singlefoot. “It’s the easiest gait to ride,” he said. “I’ll teach you the others later.” Even Quik began to enjoy himself, and untied his safety belt and climbed up to Freddy’s shoulder.
    During the next few days Freddy was in the saddle from early morning till long after dark. Like most fat people he had a good sense of balance so that he could sit