LET 'ER BUCK 



gamely picks himself out of the dust, shakes some of 

 it out of his system, and waves a hand as a signal that 

 he is unhurt. 



There were many game fights put up, for it was a 

 contest of champions, the best total time for the three 

 days winning. The first day the steers had the best 

 of it, not one being thrown; and the second day was 

 nip and tuck; but Saturday the cowboys came into 

 their own. But it must be remembered that there 

 were no half-grown, underfed animals in the Pendle- 

 ton outfit, which were from the herd that had been 

 brought from Laredo, Texas, the year before, and had 

 been roaming free on the range with the best of feed ; 

 as fine a lot of big-necked longhorns as one would 

 wish to see. 



Here comes Jack Fretz — a pretty catch. He's 

 wrestling with only a one-horn grip; the steer drags 

 him to the rail and there tries to gore him, and the 

 plucky cowboy finally lets go. Now he's lost his hold 

 and the sharp-hoofed brute proceeds to jump on him 

 with all four feet. Still the bulldogger fights on, ward- 

 ing off, dodging the hoofs above him, actually fighting 

 now for his life, until the steer puts for a photog- 

 rapher. 



Bang! it's "Mike" Hastings, whose all-round bull- 

 dogging record proclaims him one of the peers among 

 bulldoggers. Once around the track, he swoops down 

 upon the longhorn before the grandstand; a short 

 tussle, and the animal falls amid a roar from the 

 audience. 



"Bite 'im lip!" — This culmination of the contest 

 Hastings proceeds promptly to do by leaning over 

 and fastening his teeth into the upper lip of the 

 steer, and while maintaining this hold, raises his 



154 



