“It’s straight goods.”
The crowd laughed.
“Wall, that ridin’s nuthin’ to crow about,” Jim went on to better the braggart. “You ought to see Bill Hicks bust bronchos. I saw one pitch him thirty feet in the air and he lit right back in the saddle without a scratch. Didn’t he, Pat?”
“Sure an’ he did, and that ain’t all. When the baste began to buck again, Bill took off that saddle, while the horse was pitchin’ him, mind ye, and the bridle, too; and then he stuck to him till the bloomin’ baste was glad to quit. And then fer a grandstand finish, he made him climb the ladder up a haystack.”
The crowd roared at the extravagant nonsense. Even Noisy gave up, and joined in the fun.
“The best ridin’ I ever did see, fer honest,” said Jim, “was when Tim Carter, down on Henry’s Fork, brought Old Panther to time, that roan outlaw of the Diamond C bunch. He stuck to the leapin’ devil like a cocklebur fer a whole hour. You remember it, don’t you, Dan?”
“That was good riding,” came Dan’s quiet response; “they were both ready to give up, but Tim won out at last.”
“He was a bully roper, too,” added Jim, “’specially when he was on Old Buck. That old yaller horse had more sense than most men. The way he’d hold a big steer was a caution. Wonder where Tim is now.”
“Loafing round a Denver hospital last I heard,” returned Dan; “steers got him at last.”
“How?”