What they don't
know about riding they make up for with a swell rig--"

"And, oh, mamma! It sure is a swell rig!" Weary paid generous tribute.
"Only I will say old Banjo reminds me of an Irish cook rigged out in
silk and diamonds. That outfit on Glory, now--" He sighed enviously.

"Well, I've gone up against a few real ones in my long and varied
career," Irish remarked reminiscently, "and I've noticed that a hoss
never has any respect or admiration for a swell rig. When he gets real
busy it ain't the silver filigree stuff that's going to help you hold
connections with your saddle, and a silver-mounted bridle-bit ain't a
darned bit better than a plain one."

"Just take a look at him!" cried Pink, with intense disgust. "Ambling
off there, so the sun can strike all that silver and bounce back in our
eyes. And that braided lariat--I'd sure love to see the pieces if he
ever tries to anchor anything bigger than a yearling!"

"Why, you don't think for a minute he could ever get out and rope
anything, do yuh?" Irish laughed. "That there Native Son throws on
a-w-l-together too much dog to really get out and do anything."

"Aw," fleered Happy Jack, "he ain't any Natiff Son. He's a dago!"

"He's got the earmarks uh both," Big Medicine stated authoritatively. "I
know 'em, by cripes, and I know their ways." He jerked his thumb toward
the dazzling Miguel. "I can tell yuh the kinda cow-puncher he is; I've
saw 'em workin' at it. Haw-haw-haw! They'll start out to move ten or a
dozen head uh tame old cows from one field to another, and there'll be
six or eight fellers, rigged up like this here tray-spot, ridin' along,
important as hell, drivin' them few cows down a lane, with peach trees
on both sides, by cripes, jingling their big, silver spurs, all wearin'
fancy chaps to ride four or five miles down the road. Honest to grandma,
they call that punchin' cows! Oh, he's a Native Son, all right. I've
saw lots of 'em, only I never saw one so far away from the Promised Land
before. That there looks queer to me. Natiff Sons--the real ones, like
him--are as scarce outside Calyforny as buffalo are right here in this
coulee."

"That's the way they do it, all right," Irish agreed. "And then they'll
have a 'rodeo'--"

"Haw-haw-haw!" Big Medicine interrupted, and took up the tale, which
might have been entitled "Some Cowpunching I Have Seen."

"They have them rodeos on a Sunday, mostly, and they invite everybody to
it, like it was a picni