As the rawhide coils whipped and flashed through the air, the snorting bronchos fell back with lightning speed, crowding each other hard against the rough walls. Then, plunging and kicking, they spread out into a half-circle.
Zip! The noose settled down—one was caught; then another.
"Look out, fellows!" cried Jack, in sudden alarm.
The whole herd was stampeding in their direction.
Yelling like Indians, two of the cowboys galloped in front of the line of rapidly advancing horses, checked the mad rush, and when the seven, who had fallen back in undignified haste to the gate, looked around again the men were leading their unwilling captives toward them.
Fifteen minutes later, seven bronchos were tied to posts outside the corral.
Looking out for flying heels, the boys went eagerly from one to another studying their good points with critical eyes—that is, all but Conroy did. Jack had been hoping to find one broncho with nice, gentle, winning ways; but they all looked discouragingly alike, and he felt an almost irresistible desire to fall upon Cousin Tim, who, in an unnecessarily loud voice, was calling attention to their fiery dispositions.
The cowboys cantered back to the barns. They entered fully into the spirit of the occasion, glad to see new faces and have a crowd of boys to liven up the lonely ranch even for a short time.
In a few moments they returned on foot, loaded down with saddles and bridles. Then came another fight with the stubborn little animals which seemed to bring out all the wickedness in their make-ups.
Jack Conroy, leaning against the corral wall, felt his knees begin to tremble strangely. His eyes ran swiftly over the ponies, some curiously spotted, others evenly colored, and each vicious plunge they made sent an unpleasant thrill to his heart.