The poor brutes ought at least to have a chance to swim for it.
Frosty caught on, and went to work, too, and in half a minute we had them free of the wagon and stripped of everything but their bridles.

They would have as good a show as we, and maybe better.
I looked back to see what King was doing.

He was having troubles of his own, trying to keep one of his cayuses on all its feet at once.

It was scared, poor devil, and it took all his strength on the bit to keep it from rearing and maybe upsetting the whole bunch.

Pochette wasn't doing anything but lament, so I went back and unhooked King's horses for him, and took off the harness and threw it in the back of his wagon so they wouldn't tangle their feet in it when it came to a show-down.
I don't think he was what you could call grateful; he never looked my way at all, but went on cussing the horse he was holding, for acting up just when he should keep his wits.