"I'd like to see you when you are in practice!" said Whitey; "but I want to know, Mr. Jordan, if those stunts are really any good?"
"Well," said Bill, "o' course the main thing to do with a rope is to ketch somethin' with it, an' I didn't ketch nuthin' but mebbe a little applause; but yo' learn them things foolin' with the rope, an' the more yo' fool with anythin', the more yo' learn about it, and the more control yo' get over it. I wouldn't say thet the time spent in learnin' them things was all throwed away. Mebbe they ain't so useless as they seem." Bill smiled—that rare, quiet, quizzical smile of his, as he asked innocently, "Was yo' thinkin' o' puttin' in the whole mornin' an' learnin' 'em?"
Whitey laughed; he had tried the lariat and he knew how difficult it is to do anything with it at all. "Not this morning!" he said. "I'm going to wait until no one is looking. I think I'll get better acquainted with my horse before I tackle a new job!"
"One thing at a time is good dope," said Bill. "Hev yo' got so yo' kin set on that ol' hobby-horse without holdin' onto his mane?"
Whitey laughed; and for an answer, he vaulted onto Monty's back, and, followed by Injun, he galloped away.
As the boys rode away from the ranch-house across the prairie toward the mountains, they came upon numerous small streams, some of them so deep or so swift that they could not be readily forded. Here was a new experience—"swimming a horse" across a stream. Injun, of course, showed the way, and Whitey learned that, if the current is at all swift, you must enter the water above the spot where you wish to land, so that you will be carried down-stream to the proper place. And it was here that Whitey had his first real adventure; though had it not been for Injun, there is no telling but the story of Whitey would have to come to an end right here.
The boys had dismounted on the bank of one of these streams, and Whitey had tied his horse in the way Injun showed him. Injun's pony did not require tieing, for the reason that no dog ever followed his master with more fidelity than did the pony follow Injun.
As Whitey ran down the steep bank onto the rocks that bordered the stream, he saw, not more than ten feet away from him, a rattlesnake sunning himself on a flat rock. If Whitey had been a Western boy, he never would have done what he did, and that was to stoop and pick up a stone and take careful aim at the snake. In fact, he took too careful aim! Rattlesnakes are born fighters, and naturally object to being hit by rocks thrown by boys or anybody else. And at exactly the same instant that Whitey threw the stone, the rattler jumped for him—and a rattler is a considerable jumper. The rock and the snake probably passed each other in the air!
At any rate, the rock did not hit the snake, and it seemed that the snake did not hit the boy; but for the next few seconds the air was full of snake and boy—the boy doing a dance that would put to shame any professional. Whitey hopped high and far and frequently, but he couldn't get out of reach of the snake. But a rattler must coil to strike effectively; and although this one did, very quickly, he was not quite quick enough.
Injun had come to the edge of the bank and had taken in the situation at a glance, and he acted instantly. In an incredibly short time, he had fitted an arrow to his bow, and when the snake coiled, it was the last thing that Mr. Snake ever did! Injun's arrow hit him just below his ugly, flat head, and pinned him to the ground for a moment, where he writhed and twisted for a time and then lay still. Injun paid no attention to the snake, but turned anxiously to Whitey.