You look back at the feller you put ridin' drag. Over the backs of the wanderin' herd, through the dusty haze, there he is. He's got his two-year-old brown gelding spinning in a tight circle to the right. The colt's head is pulled to the inside, butt down and tail tucked in. Then the colt's nose is pulled down against his chest and he's backin' up in quick steps. Suddenly the horse and rider burst forward like Custer's charge and reach a gallop within a few strides! He leans all the way back. The colt's whole body tips back, head up, front hooves locked straight. The hind legs stiffen and reach plum under the head. He sticks his butt nearly to the ground and skids to a sliding stop.
The cowboy pauses, pats ol' Brown and gazes off listening to the thunderous applause of the imaginary crowd.
"You crazy two legged mare ridin' maniac! Get those cattle up here!"
Every outfit's got a feller who hired on to cowboy and get another fifty a month to ride a couple of colts. The better they seem to be with horses, the more their attention seems to wander workin' cattle. They can't help it. It's in their blood. They march to a different drummer, those boys. Some of 'em are so good with horses it's hard to believe they can't read each other's mind.
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