A
series of quick bucks followed, the buckskin coming down with
back humped, all four legs stiff as iron posts. The jar on the
rider would have been like a pile-driver falling on his head had
he not let himself grow limp. The buckskin plunged forward again
in frenzied leaps, ending in an unexpected jump to one side. Alas
for Texas! One moment he was jubilantly plying quirt and spurs,
the next he found himself pitching sideways. To save himself he
caught at the saddle-horn.
"He's hunting leather," shouted a hundred voices.
One of the judges rode out and waved a hand. Texas slipped to the
ground disqualified, and made his dejected way back to his
deriding comrades. Some of them had endured similar misfortunes
earlier in the day. Therefore they found much pleasure in
condoling with him.
"If he'd only recollected to saw off the horn of his saddle, then
he couldn't 'a' found it when he went to hunt leather,"
mournfully commented one puncher in a shirt of robin's egg blue.
"'Twould have been most as good as to take the dust, wouldn't
it?" retorted Texas gently, and the laugh was on the gentleman in
blue, because he had been thrown earlier in the day.
"A fellow's hands sure get in his way sometimes.
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