"It's bad policy, youngster," he whispered, "to box all your strength away in the first round. Look at my beast, he's badly blown."
This was the case. The horses were not accustomed to the present headlong method of travelling. They were used to quiet jogging about the farm-lands, or carrying their master from settlement to settlement at a respectable rate of progression; they were not in training for this kind of emergency riding.
"We'd better climb down and let them breathe a minute or two," said Uncle Ben gravely. "See here." He had loosened the bridle, and his horse instantly lowered its neck until its distended nostrils almost reached the ground, panting and wheezing in a state of breathlessness bordering upon actual distress.
"That's Donald," said Bruce; "he's a good goer, too, but he isn't used to this pace."
"Well, he shall have three minutes' law," said Uncle Ben, "or more if he needs it. Sit down a bit and we'll talk, but don't speak up at full voice. How d'you like this yer adventure, sonnie?"
"I love it," said Bruce; "it's exactly the kind of thing I do like."
"Ah—ever been in a fight, or had to struggle for your life?"
"Oh no, not yet," said Bruce. "I'm a bit young; but I hope to."
"Nor seen blood, and so on?" continued the old fellow.