Page:The Trail Rider (1924).pdf/41

 its loins—the meanest color that a steer could be, and Texas knew it—long-legged, long-horned, and it carried its head high when it rushed out of the pen, as if it was bound for its native Texas and dared any man to stop it on the way. Of course there was a certain advantage in a fast one, Texas reflected, for the faster it went, the harder it would fall. But he had his doubts on the ability of this slender girl, with her small, brown hands, being able to do much with that native of the chaparral.

"He's a regular catamount!" said Texas aloud.

"You said it, pardner," agreed a short, bow-legged man, with a narrow face and long nose, and great black mustache drooping under it like a mourning wreath.

The three judges were mounted, waiting in front of the grand stand to dash out and time the contestant, time beginning the moment that the lariat was thrown. The contestant was allowed the preliminary maneuvering to warm up her horse, limber her arms, and work the steer up in front of the grand stand if she had that desire.

Texas saw from the start that this girl had no such intention. Her aim was to get it over with while her horse was fresh. But the steer seemed to have some crafty design of his own for making a figure in the world. Texas never had seen a swifter one, and few as wild. The animal dashed