"What do you think of that, Felix?" the _Villicus_ asked me.
"As good horse-wrangling as can be seen anywhere," I replied. "Up to
standard and even above normal. But I can do better."
"Bold words," said the _Villicus_; "we'll give you a chance to prove
them."
Another filly was roped, bitted, bridled, and saddled, and her captors
invited me to mount.
"Pooh!" said I. "Let some one else ride her. I don't need all those
preliminaries. I can walk right out into that bunch of colts, catch any
young stallion you point out, hold him by the nose, gentle him without any
rope or thong on him, mount him by vaulting onto his back, and ride him
about unbitted, unbridled, bareback, and as I please, without his rearing
or backing or kicking."
"Son," said the _Villicus_, "you are either a lunatic or a demigod. Go in
and try what you boast you can do. Show us."
"Point out your stallion," I suggested.
He indicated a beautiful bay with a white face. He let me approach him at
my first attempt, let me take him by the nose, let me lead him close to my
dumbfounded audience, let me mount him. I rode him about, turning him to
right or left as the _Villicus_ ordered, at my suggestion. When I got off
I lifted each of his hoofs in succession, crawled under his belly, crawled
between his fore-legs, and then between his hind-legs, while the onlookers
held their breath; finally I stood behind him, slapped his rump and pulled
his tail.
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