Smoky, the cow horse

by Will James

The cowboy played his rope and held his horse, he'd held many like him before and most all had fought the same as Smoky was now fighting. That pony's eyes was afire as he seen there was no chance for any get away even when he was on his feet, he couldn't at all shake that two legged hunk of terror, and as he snorted and fought the rope that still held fast around his head and neck he begin to tire some, and came a time when as the cowboy stood still a few yards away he stood still too, and legs wide apart, sweat a dripping from his slick hide, he took in a breathing spell.

He stood there as he watched the cowboy back away and let the rope slide thru his hands; he watched him open the gate and get the saddle horse that'd been left to stand on the other side, seen him get on that horse and then pick up the slack of the rope that was holding him. There was thirty feet of it between him and the mounted human, and when that rope was tossed a little as the rider circled around him, Smoky made a leap and shaking his head like trying to slip what held him he headed straight on for the open gate.

But once past it Smoky was jerked to a fighting standstill, he hadn't as yet reckoned that a rope could hold him—. The gate was closed after him and the rider had went thru and then Smoky felt some slack. He took advantage of that and started out full speed again; he was out of the corral and in the open, the rope that was still on him was only felt and wasn't holding him from lining out.

A shallow creek bottom full of tall green feed was by that corral and Smoky headed down it; any place would do so long as he could run and keep a distance between him and that rider, but that run wasn't to last long, once again he felt the rope tighten till he was brought to a stop, and facing the rider once more watched him get off his horse and fasten the end of the long rope to a log.

"Well, little horse," says the cowboy as he stood there and watched him for a spell, "don't play too rough with this rope, the better you treat it the better it'll treat you," and with that he got on his horse and rode off towards the corrals where more broncs waited for the same eddication that Smoky had just got.

That long soft and thick cotton rope, and that log which held Smoky was the means of his first learnings as to ways for usefulness to the human. The more he'd fight that rope and try to get away from it the more he'd learn that his fighting and tearing was of no use. That rope was on the job steady and to learn him to turn as he run and hit the end of it, it would take the stiffness out of his neck and there'd come a time when he'd give to a pull from either side without fighting and wanting to be convinced that it could be done. The log which the rope was tied to was part of the teaching apparatus, heavy enough to hold the pony, and even tho it could be dragged around some Smoky couldn't get very far with it.

The little horse realized somehow as he sized up the contraption that the end had come to all he'd enjoyed with the freedom he'd had, cool shades,—clear streams, and grassy ranges to all roam on as he pleased had been took away from him; he didn't know what was to come next, but he did know that he was on that creek bottom, close to corrals, and there to stay for a spell.

CHAPTER V

THE BRONC TWISTER STEPS UP

A cloud of dust was hanging on over the big corrals where Clint, the bronc twister of the Rocking R outfit, was busy starting raw broncs under the saddle and "twisted" 'em in shape for good saddle stock. It was long, hot, and hard days for that cowboy as he wrestled with the slick, fat, and snorty ponies and convinced 'em that they all could be led, rode, and handled according to the way he seen fit; but Clint was used to that, he'd been at it for years with nary a rest or relief from the work that was beginning to tell on him.