tioned to fit the
horse. Tall, slender of waist, broad of shoulder, straight, he sat loosely
in the saddle looking at the scene below him, unconscious of the
admiration he excited. Poetic fancies stirred Carson vaguely.

"Luk at 'im now, Murph; wid his big hat, his leather pants, his spurs, an'
the rist av his conthraptions! There's a divvil av a conthrast here now,
if ye'd only glimpse it. This civillyzation, ripraysinted be this
railroad, don't seem to fit, noways. It's like it had butted into a
pitcher book! Ain't he a darlin'?"

"I've never seen him up close," said Murphy. There was none of Carson's
enthusiasm in his voice. "It's always seemed to me that a felluh who rigs
himself out like that has got a lot of show-off stuff in him."

"The first time I clapped me eyes on wan av them cowbhoys I thought so,
too," said Carson. "That was back on the other section. But I seen so
manny av them rigged out like thot, thot I comminced to askin' questions.
It's a domned purposeful rig, mon. The big felt hat is a daisy for keepin'
off the sun, an' that gaudy bit av a rag around his neck keeps the sun and
sand from blisterin' the skin. The leather pants is to keep his legs from
gettin' clawed up be the thorns av prickly pear an' what not, which he's
got to ride through, an' the high heels is to keep his feet from slippin'
through the stirrups. A kid c'ud tell ye what he carries the young cannon
for, an' why he wears it so low on his hip. Ye've nivver seen him up
close, eh Murph'? Well, I'm askin' him down so's ye can have a good look
at him." He stepped back from the boulder and waved a hand at Trevison,
shouting:

"Make it a real visit, bhoy!"

"I'll be pullin' out of here before he can get around," said Murphy,
noting that the last car was almost filled.

Carson chuckled. "Hold tight," he warned; "he's comin'."

The side of the cut was steep, and the soft sand and clay did not make a
secure footing. But when the black received the signal from Trevison he
did not hesitate. Crouching like a great cat at the edge, he slid his
forelegs over until his hoofs sank deep into the side of the cut. Then
with a gentle lurch he drew his hind legs after him, and an instant later
was gingerly descending, his rider leaning far back in the saddle, the
reins held loosely in his hands.

It looked simple enough, the way the black was doing it, and Trevison's
demeanor indicated perfect trust in the animal and in his own skill as a
rider.