"All right," said Barry. "Satan, are you comin'?"
The horse whinnied, but would not move.
"Then stay here."
He turned his back and walked resolutely across the meadow, but slowly, and
more slowly, until a ringing neigh made him stop and turn. Satan had not
stirred from his first halting place, but now his head was high and his
cars pricked anxiously. He pawed the ground in his impatience.
"Look there, Bart," observed the master gloomily. "There's pride for you.
He won't let on that he's too weak to carry me. Now I'd ought to let him
stay there till he drops."
He whistled suddenly, the call sliding up, breaking, and rising again with
a sharp appeal. Satan neighed again as it died away.
"If that won't bring him, nothin' will. Back we got to go. Bart, you jest
take this to heart: It ain't any use tryin' to bring them to reason that
ain't got any sense."
He went back and sprang lightly to the back of the horse and Satan
staggered a little under the weight but once, as if to prove that his
strength was more than equal to the task, he broke into a trot.
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