"The Better They Are The Sooner You Learn 'em That," Was One Of Jack's Pet Theories, While His Proudest Boast - His Only Boast - Perhaps Was That He'd "Never Been Beaten On That Yet."

"They have to come sooner or later if you stick at 'em," he had said, when I marvelled at first to see the great creatures come obediently to the click of his tongue or fingers.

So far in all his wide experience the latest had been the third day. That, however, was rare; more frequently it was a matter of hours, sometimes barely an hour, while now and then - incredulous as it may seem to the layman - only minutes.

Ten minutes before Jack put the brown colt to the test it had been a wild, terrified, plunging creature, and yet, as he stepped back to try its intelligence and submission, his face was confident and expectant.

Moving slowly backwards, he held out one hand the hand that had proved all kindness and comfort and, snapping a finger and thumb, clicked his tongue in a murmur of invitation.

The brown ears shot forward to attention at the sound, and as the head reached out to investigate, the snapping fingers repeated the invitation, and without hesitation the magnificent creature went forward obediently until the hand was once more resting on the dark muzzle.

The trusting beauty of the surrender seemed to break some spell that had held us silent since the beginning of the catching. "Oh, Jack! Isn't he a beauty?" I cried unconsciously putting my admiration into a question.

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