LET 'ER BUCK 



There are Kamay Akany, Mary Joshua, Wealatoy, 

 Lucy Luton, Sophia Amika, Nellie Minthorn, Wyna- 

 poo and Georgia Penny, well bunched and all splendid 

 riders. Now they string out a bit, now more and more 

 and Lucy Luton pulls in first. The Indian girls have 

 marked up a record of .58 seconds in the squaw race. 



This daring racing is attended with some spills and 

 injuries, but as I help to carry from the track one of 

 the riders before the galloping hoofs again encircle 

 the track, her finely featured face, while bearing a bad 

 gash, also shows through her suffering that superb 

 self-control and stoicism of her race. 



There now quickly follow others of the never-to-be 

 forgotten races. Whether it be cow-pony, Indian, 

 quick change, squaw, or catch saddle and ride, they 

 but create in you an anticipation for the greater thrills 

 later of the maverick, relay, or pony express. In the 

 whirlwind rush, amazing dexterity, grit and headwork 

 is a desperate daring, and each teems with a nerve- 

 racking, devil-may-care riding which characterizes this 

 feature of the Round-Up. 



A thrill of the past must be felt by everyone in that 

 vast throng when in the late afternoon glow the three 

 lumbering four-horse stagecoaches draw near to the 

 start. There are men sitting among the spectators 

 watching, who in the holding of the reins in days gone 

 by, held life as well. The rules prescribe a driver, 

 lash-plier, and passenger. 



Crack, go the long whips, and they are off. Break- 

 ing into full speed the lumbering old carriers rattle 

 and swing as they rock on the turns like galleons in a 

 gale. They circle the track as they once circled the 

 foothills or sped on twist and turn through canyon 

 and gulch, going at a gait that surprises even some of 



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