The Las Palmas cowboys rode like centaurs,
doubling, dodging, yelling, and whirling their ropes like lashes;
the air was drumming to swift hoof-beats, and over all was the
hoarse, unceasing undertone from countless bovine throats. Out
near the grub-wagon the remuda was grazing, and thither at
intervals came the perspiring horsemen to change their mounts.
Benito, wet, dusty, and tired, rode up to his employer to report
progress.
"Dios! This is hot work for an old man. We will never finish by
dark," said he, whereupon Law promptly volunteered his services,
"Lend me your rope, Benito, till I get another caballo."
"Eh? That Montrosa is the best cutting horse on Las Palmas."
But Dave shook his head vigorously. "I wouldn't risk her among
those gopher-holes." He slid out of his seat and, with an arm
around the mare's neck, whispered into her ear, "We won't have any
broken legs and broken hearts, will we, honey girl?" Rosa answered
by nosing the speaker over with brazen familiarity; then when he
had removed her equipment and turned away, dragging her saddle,
she followed at his heels like a dog.
"Diablo! He has a way with horses, hasn't he?" Benito grinned,
"Now that Montrosa is wilder than a deer.
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