e came to him. So far
as he had observed, what Jake Bradley said was strictly true. They
certainly did seem remarkably tame.

With a little more persuasion he was induced to mount, Ben assisting him
to get into position, and the reins were put into his hands.

The mustang began to move off at a regular pace, very favorable to an
inexperienced rider, and a bland and child-like smile of content
overspread the face of the Chinaman.

"You see, Ki Sing," said Bradley, who walked alongside, "it's nothing to
ride. You thought you couldn't ride, yet you are pacing it off like a
veteran."

"Me likee lide," observed Ki Sing, with a pleased smile.

"Just so: I thought you would.--Ben, doesn't Ki Sing ride well?"

"Splendidly!" said Ben, contemplating with amusement the Mongolian
horseman.

Certainly, Ki Sing in his Chinese garb, as he gingerly held the reins,
with his bland, smiling face, did look rather queer.

But I am sorry to say that the poor Chinaman's pleasure and contentment
were destined to be of short duration. Bradley and Ben were eager for
the amusement they promised themselves when they planned this practical
joke at the expense of their Asiatic friend.

Winking at Ben, Bradley said, "You don't go fast enough, Ki Sing."

As he spoke he brought down a stick which he had in his hand with
emphasis on the flanks of the mustang. The effect was magical. The tame
animal immediately started off at great speed, arching his neck and
shaking his head, while the poor Chinaman, his bland smile succeeded by
a look of extreme terror, was bounced up and down in the most
unceremonious fashion, and would have been thrown off quickly but for
the Mexican saddle, which is a securer seat than that used at the East.

He uttered a howl of anguish, while his almond eyes seemed starting out
of their sockets as his steed dashed along the road.

Though Ben sympathized with the terrified Chinaman, he knew there was
little or no danger, and he threw himself on the ground and gave way to
a paroxysm of laughter.

Finally the horse slackened his pace, and Ki Sing lost no time in
sliding to the ground.

"How do you like it, Ki Sing?" asked Bradley, trying to keep his face
straight.

"No likee lide," answered Mr. Chinaman. "Horsee 'most kill Ki Sing."

"You rode splendidly, Ki Sing," said Ben, laughing. "You made him go
fast."

"No likee go fast," said Ki Sing, inspecting his limbs to see that none
were broken.

The poor Chinama