a
cow-pony turns like a ball off a bat, and a slippery seat in the saddle
may put you under the feet of the outraged monarch of the range.

[Illustration: 49 THE HALF-WILD CATTLE CAME DOWN FROM THE HILLS]

Driving down to the _rodeo-ground,_ we all stood about on our ponies and
held the herd, as it is called, the young girls doing vaquero duty, as
imperturbable of mien as Mr. Flannagan, the foreman. So many women in
the world are afraid of a dairy cow, even gathering up their skirts and
preparing to shriek at the sight of one eating daisies. But these young
women will grow up and they will be afraid of no cow. So much for a
Soledad education.

The top-ropers rode slowly into the dust of the milling herd, scampered
madly, cast their ropes, and came jumping to us with a blatting calf
trailing at their ropes' end. Two men seized the little victim, threw
him on his back, cut a piece out of his ear with a knife, and still held
him in relentless grip while another pressed a red-hot branding-iron on
his side, which sizzled and sent up blue smoke, together with an odor of
burned flesh. The calves bawled piteously. There was no more emotion on
the faces of the Soledad girls than was shown by the brown cowboys. They
had often, very often, seen this before, and their nerves were strong.
Some day I can picture in my mind's eye these young girl vaqueros grown
to womanhood, and being such good-looking creatures, very naturally some
young man will want very badly to marry one of them--for it cannot be
otherwise. I only hope he will not be a thin-chested, cigarette-smoking
dude, because it will be a sacrilege of nature. He must undoubtedly have
played forward at Princeton or Yale, or be unworthy.

As we stood, a massive bull emerged from the body of the herd, his head
thrown high, tail stiff with anger, eye rolling, and breath coming
quick. He trotted quickly forward, and, lowering his head, charged
through the "punchers." Instantly a small Soledad girl was after him,
the vaqueros reining back to enjoy the strange ride with their eyes. Her
hat flew off, and the long curls flapped in the rushing air as her pony
fairly sailed over the difficult ground. The bull tore furiously, but
behind him swept the pony and the child. As we watched, the chase had
gone a mile away, but little Miss Yellowcurls drew gradually to the far
side of the bull, quartering him on the far side, and whirling on,
headed her quarry back to her audience and the he