, has snatched up a lasso and is back into
the kraal like a streak of light; without ever checking his gallop he
flings the lasso round the enraged beast's head, and drags him away in a
great semicircle through the now open gate on to the prairie. We see him
with a sharp turn jerk the animal off its feet, and then a revolver shot
rings out; there is a convulsive kick or two and the great steer lies
dead.

Meantime the others have run to lift up the unconscious man in the
kraal. Luckily he is not much the worse, for he has only a fractured
collar-bone and a broken arm. He was stunned by his hard fall, but soon
comes round. Nobody seems to think much of this, but they all
congratulate him on having escaped with nothing worse. These accidents
are daily risks in a cowboy's life.

It is late before we get back, and we have no time to wander round the
homestead that day. Next morning you are up and out early to investigate
something for yourself. I know quite well what it is, for you talked
"gopher" in your sleep.

In coming across the prairie we saw here and there colonies of odd
little beasts that looked a cross between a squirrel and a rat. They
jumped up and sat on the tops of their holes to see us pass, and then
disappeared like a Jack-in-the-box when we got near. When I go out a bit
later I find you in fits of laughter at the inquisitive little
creatures. They can't resist peeping, and when they have popped into
their holes, back come the little heads and bright eyes to watch what
you are doing. I am pretty tired, as I was kept awake most of the night
by a bird in a tree near the window which kept saying, "Whip-poor-will"
over and over again at intervals. I understand that's its name, and it
is hated by the ranchers. No, it is not the bright little black and
white bird like a small magpie which pecks around, that is a
Whisky-Jack.

I spend a gloriously lazy morning watching you crawling around behind
the holes and trying to grab the gophers! Needless to say you never get
one!

At dinner-time Mr. Humphrey is much amused at your game. "They drive
dogs just frantic," he says, "especially young ones that don't know
them. Rabbits aren't in it!"

After dinner he suggests driving us round the ranch, and invites you to
come and help him to yoke up. A minute or two later you both reappear
without the horses.

"A brute of a skunk," says Mr. Humphrey tersely; "we'll have to wait a
while."

It seems that one of these aw