ered band, requiring scarcely any
supervision. Escape? Bless you, no, that thought was the last in
their minds.
In the meantime the saddles and bridles were adjusted. Always in a
cowboy's "string" of from six to ten animals the boss assigns him two
or three broncos to break in to the cow business. Therefore, each
morning we could observe a half dozen or so men gingerly leading wicked
looking little animals out to the sand "to take the pitch out of them."
One small black, belonging to a cowboy called the Judge, used more than
to fulfil expectations of a good time.
"Go to him, Judge!" someone would always remark.
"If he ain't goin' to pitch, I ain't goin' to make him", the Judge
would grin, as he swung aboard.
The black would trot off quite calmly and in a most matter of fact way,
as though to shame all slanderers of his lamb-like character. Then, as
the bystanders would turn away, he would utter a squeal, throw down his
head, and go at it. He was a very hard bucker, and made some really
spectacular jumps, but the trick on which he based his claims to
originality consisted in standing on his hind legs at so perilous an
approach to the perpendicular that his rider would conclude he was
about to fall backwards, and then suddenly springing forward in a
series of stiff-legged bucks. The first manoeuvre induced the rider to
loosen his seat in order to be ready to jump from under, and the second
threw him before he could regain his grip.
"And they say a horse don't think!" exclaimed an admirer.
But as these were broken horses--save the mark!--the show was all over
after each had had his little fling. We mounted and rode away, just as
the mountain peaks to the west caught the rays of a sun we should not
enjoy for a good half hour yet.
I had five horses in my string, and this morning rode "that C S horse,
Brown Jug." Brown Jug was a powerful and well-built animal, about
fourteen two in height, and possessed of a vast enthusiasm for
cow-work. As the morning was frosty, he felt good.
At the gate of the water corral we separated into two groups. The
smaller, under the direction of Jed Parker, was to drive the mesquite
in the wide flats. The rest of us, under the command of Homer, the
round-up captain, were to sweep the country even as far as the base of
the foothills near Mount Graham. Accordingly we put our horses to the
full gallop.
Mile after mile we thundered along at a brisk rate of speed. Somet
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