Twice again he was corralled with the remuda for fresh horses the riders was needing, and the little horse was slow beginning to get used to the sound of the ropes and the sight of the strange cowboys. Clint was to see him at the last coralling of the day and when the nighthawk took the ponies out for the night Smoky nipped Pecos in the flanks. He felt playful.
Outside of the time he spent in the rope corral the little horse was enjoying the following of the round up mighty well,—there was always so many horses around, and all with the bellering of the big herds and the dust that was kept up sure tallied up with the beat of his heart. He hadn't figgered on what to expect being one of the remuda that way, and being that he couldn't make out all that went on he didn't know just what could be expected, and that's why maybe he wasn't worried much.
"Going to make a very big circle this morning, Jeff?"
It was the morning of the third day that Clint asked the foreman that question, and when Jeff answered he understood what was on Clint's mind, he grinned at the cowboy as he spoke.
"You go ahead and ride your Smoky horse, Clint, I'll put you on the inside circle so as it won't be too hard on him."
And that's how come when it was Smoky's turn to be rode that the easiest was handed him. The horse spotted Clint coming towards him, a rope was in his hands but no loop was dragging and he met the cowboy halfways.
Of the many ponies that makes up a "remuda" there's seldom any that can be walked up to, even the gentlest has to be roped. They're broke that way and it all saves time, for a cowboy can stand off thirty feet, rope his horse and start leading him out from there. It saves him many steps and when there's so many riders and horses, them steps and the time it'd take to make 'em sure would accumulate. Then again there's so many wild ponies that would have to be roped anyway. So making the whole thing simple, every horse is caught with a loop. No good roper ever whirls a loop in catching horses, and the only sound that's heard is when the rope splits from the ground to the pony's head.
Once in a while, and even with real cow outfits that's well run, there's exceptions in roping every horse that way. Smoky was the one exception on the Rocking R, and every cowboy was good natured jealous at the way that mouse colored son of a gun of a horse would stick his head out every time Clint came around and then left his hiding place from amongst the other horses to meet him.
Smoky knowed that something was up soon as Clint came near him, but whatever it was he was anxious to be at it;—him and that cowboy would get along.
The little horse humped up as he felt the cinch, and Clint grinned as he remarked: