uble H, Fort Shafter, and Hooper's. He waked up and paid a
little attention at this; and I thought I might get a little friendly
talk out of him. A cowboy rides around alone so much he sort of likes to
josh when he has anybody with him. This "strong silent" stuff doesn't go
until you've used around with a man quite some time.

I got the talk, all right, but it didn't have a thing to do with
topography or natural history. Unless you call the skate he was riding
natural history. That was the burden of his song. He didn't like that
horse, and he didn't care who knew it. It was an uncomfortable horse to
ride on, it required exertion to keep in motion, and it hurt his
feelings. Especially the last. He was a horseman, a jockey, he'd ridden
the best blood in the equine world; and here he was condemned through no
fault of his own to straddle a cross between a llama and a woolly toy
sheep. It hurt his pride. He felt bitterly about it. Indeed, he fairly
harped on the subject.

"Is that horse of yours through bucking for the day?" he asked at last.

"Certain thing. Tiger never pitches but the once."

"Let me ride him a ways. I'd like to feel a real horse to get the taste
of this kangaroo out of my system."

I could see he was jumpy, so I thought I'd humour him.

"Swing on all at once and you're all right," I advised him. "Tiger don't
like fumbling in getting aboard."

He grunted scornfully.

"Those stirrups are longer than the ones you've been using. Want to
shorten them?"

He did not bother to answer, but mounted in a decisive manner that
proved he was indeed a horseman, and a good one. I climbed old crow bait
and let my legs hang.

The jockey gathered the reins and touched Tiger with his heels. I kicked
my animal with my stock spurs and managed to extract a lumbering sort of
gallop.

"Hey, slow up!" I called after a few moments. "I can't keep up with
you."

Brower did not turn his head, nor did Tiger slow up. After twenty
seconds I realized that he intended to do neither. I ceased urging on my
animal, there was no use tiring us both; evidently the jockey was
enjoying to the full the exhilaration of a good horse, and we would
catch up at Box Springs. I only hoped the boys wouldn't do anything
drastic to him before my arrival.

So I jogged along at the little running walk possessed by even the most
humble cattle horse, and enjoyed the evening. It was going on toward
dusk and pools of twilight were in the bottomlan