Finally he did reach the bump and rubbed around there a spell. Smoky struck once, Clint dodged the front hoof and kept a rubbing. He rubbed past the left ear and down his neck till the withers was reached, the mane was worked on and all the knots in it untangled. The little horse quivered and flinched every once in a while but the rubbing process went on till Smoky begin showing symptoms that he could stand it all easy enough. In the meantime Clint talked to him like he'd never took time to talk to another horse before, and if Smoky could of understood he'd knowed by that talk just what was ahead for him; but Smoky wasn't thinking on what was ahead,--the present had him worried enough as it was, and he was kept busy watching every move that human was making. Smoky had lost considerable wildness during the two days on the picket rope. He'd learned there was no use in fighting the rope that held him, that it was best to turn when he came to the end of it, and gradually he was getting used to have that rope touch him here and there and he'd quit kicking at it. He was more familiar with that than with the human who put him there, but the rope done the trick of getting him used to having anything touch him,--it kinda broke him to stand the touch of the hand. He was learning to stand that well enough too, but the movements of that hand had to be just right, not too quick and no jabbing done or there'd be a scattering of something mighty quick. "I'm sure making a lot of fuss over you," says Clint as he rubs on past the withers and along his back a ways. "If you was just an ordinary bronc you'd be missing most of this attention and you'd be finding yourself in the corral with me on top of you by tomorrow, and turned in the 'Remuda' by another month, but I got a scheme up on account of me liking you the way I do: I'm going to take my time and make you my private top horse and when that's done I'll have every cowboy in the country jealous of me for having such a horse as you're going to turn out to be." With Clint's scheming that way there was a good chance of him winning out, and gradually, steady, the eddication of Smoky started in. That cowboy called on for all he knowed in the profession of horse breaking and used it all with a lot of time to shape out Smoky the way he wanted him. No company time was used on the horse on account Clint felt it wouldn't been doing the square thing "cause," as he says "it'll be bad enough if I have to steal him."--Of course Clint wouldn't steal that horse or no other one, but he felt like he'd sure do something out of the ordinary rather than let Smoky go to any other rider. Every evening after that last meal of the day was over, Clint would be down in the creek bottom with Smoky. What went on there showed some of what Clint really thought of the mouse colored gelding, and there was no disappointed look on his face when dark made him return to the bunk house.