ed by a
miracle.

The men in the camp were just starting on the "long circle" when
Roosevelt returned. One of them saddled a fresh horse for him while he
snatched a hasty breakfast; then he was off for the day's work.

As only about half of the night-herd had been brought back, the
circle-riding was particularly heavy, and it was ten hours before
Roosevelt was back at the wagon camp once more for a hasty meal and a
fresh horse. He finished work as the late twilight fell. He had been
in the saddle forty hours, changing horses five times. That night he
slept like the dead.

The storm had raised the level of the river and filled every wash-out
with swirling brown waters. The following day Roosevelt had an
adventure which came within an ace of being tragedy and culminated in
hilarious farce. He was riding with a young Englishman, the son of
Lord Somebody or Other--the name is immaterial--who was living that
spring with the Langs. Just north of the Custer Trail Ranch a bridge
of loose stringers had been laid across the wash-out, which, except at
times of heavy rains or melting snows, was completely dry. On this
occasion, however, it was full to the banks, and had even flowed over
the rude bridge, jumbling the light logs.

The stringers parted as their horses attempted to make their way
gingerly across, and in an instant horses and riders and bridge
timbers were floundering indiscriminately in the rushing torrent.
Roosevelt's horse worked his way out, but the Englishman, who was a
good rider according to his lights, was not altogether used to mishaps
of this sort and became excited.

"I'm drowning! I'm drowning!" he called to Roosevelt.

Roosevelt snatched the lasso from his saddle. He was not famous as a
roper, but on this occasion his "throw" went true. The rope descended
over the shoulders of the British aristocrat, and an instant later
Roosevelt had him on solid ground.

"As he was yanked unceremoniously out of that creek," Roosevelt
subsequently remarked, "he did not seem to be very thankful."

Sober second thoughts, however, brought gratitude with them. The
Britisher never forgot that Roosevelt had saved his life, and
Roosevelt never forgot the picture that a son of a lord made, dragged
through the water at the end of a lasso.

On June 5th, which must have been the day after the rescue of the
Englishman, Roosevelt was writing to Lodge.

A cowboy from "down river" has just come up to the round-up,