Immediately after supper John had to saddle his horse and drive the work stock out to feed. This task was becoming more and more easy as the horses learned to know each other. He met Curran, Brady's wrangler, regularly now, and the companionship helped to while away the long night hours very pleasantly.
Curran was of medium height, stoop-shouldered, and rather bow-legged from long contact with a horse's rounded body. He was awkward and stiff when afoot, an appearance accentuated by the suit of canvas and leather that he wore. In the saddle he was another being, graceful, supple, strong—seemingly a part of the beast he rode. His skin was tanned and seamed by long years of exposure to the sun. He might be the very hero himself of a song he sang to John one night.
BOW-LEGGED IKE.
Bow-legged Ike on horseback was sent
From some place, straight down to this broad continent.
His father could ride and his mother could, too,
They straddled the whole way from Kalamazoo.
Born on the plains, when he first sniffed the air
He cried for to mount on the spavined gray mare.
And when he got big and could hang to the horn
'Twas the happiest day since the time he was born.
He'd stop his horse loping with one good, strong yank,
He'd rake him on shoulder and rake him on flank.
He was only sixteen when he broke "Outlaw Nell,"
The horse that had sent nigh a score men to—well!
He climbed to the saddle and there sat still,
While she bucked him all day with no sign of a spill.