“What size boots d’yu’ wear, Gallagher?” he inquired, with a mild grin. “Nines, eh? ... same as me. D’yu’ mind changin’? I’m sure on the borrowin’ stunt all right this trip, but them stirrups of yores ain’t none too wide an’ I don’t much fancy gettin’ ‘hung up.’”
The other acquiesced willingly enough and the exchange was soon effected. Unstrapping the lariat from off the saddle, Benton climbed up and dropped inside the corral, the horses beginning immediately to circle around uneasily at his approach, raising clouds of dust.
“Which ’un yu’ goin’ to take, Sargint?” inquired their owner.
“Guess I’ll try out that buckskin first!” Ellis answered laconically. “I wanta hold him and that sorrel. We’ll let the others drift.”
Standing in the center of the corral, with an ease that bespoke long practise, he slowly shook out a workable loop and began to adroitly maneuver the buckskin to the rear of the bunch. But the latter, scenting danger, and being apparently an old hand at the game, was very elusive, diving head-down into the ruck always at the psychological moment. Patiently watching his chance as, for about the twentieth time the buckskin’s head reappeared amidst the flying manes, the Sergeant carelessly, with a curious overhand flip, swung and threw, the noose dropping fairly over the ears and nose.
Tailing onto the rope, with heels digging into the soft ground, he slid for a few yards, then suddenly detaching the animal from the retreating bunch with a powerful hip-heave he brought it up facing him.
Gallagher watched the performance with a lazy curiosity. “Knows his business with a rope all right,” was his silent comment.
Once caught, as Benton coiled in the slack, hand over hand, the buckskin walked meekly up to his captor like one who knows the game is up, and allowed himself to be patted. Leaving Gallagher to hold the animal, Ellis proceeded to cut the sorrel into a small inner corral. This done, he opened the gate once more, and with a wild whirl and surge that scattered clouds of dust the late occupants eagerly streamed out on the run back to their range again.
Carrying the blanket, saddle, and bridle, the Sergeant entered the corral and cautiously approaching the held horse, deftly slipped the bit between its teeth and buckled the throat-lash firmly, then, drawing off the lariat, picked up the blanket and flopped it over the withers with a smack. The saddle next followed suit; the double cinches, although slapping the animal’s belly with the same deliberate roughness, failed to produce any startling effect.
“Seems gentle,” Benton muttered aloud.