THE ROUND-UP 



articulate and mill in the great, pulsating ring, now 

 waxing into a wild swirl of throbbing rhythms that 

 seem to strike something deep at the very roots of your 

 nature. You realize that you are looking upon one of 

 the most wonderful ceremonial aggregations that can 

 be gathered together on this continent, and your eyes 

 drink deep of that riot of color to the last draught. 



A flare of the drum — a single beat — and you have 

 that unexpected termination so characteristic of almost 

 all American-Indian dancing. Tinged in a saffron 

 blaze of glory, the dancers pass out to their tepees in 

 the cottonwoods. 



SPINNING YARNS AND OTHER THINGS 



For a few ecstatic minutes the remarkable group of 

 fancy ropers electrify you. You met them all at the 

 tryouts, you delight in their wonderful feats as their 

 spinning shapes up the graceful "butterfly," fascinat- 

 ing "ocean wave" and the marvelous "wedding ring" 

 and the many other forms of juggling and control at 

 will of that most elusive thing — the lass rope. 



Trick riders like Otto Kline, Sid Seale and Crutch- 

 field, these you notice, think nothing of standing in 

 light straps on their saddles, horse on the dead run. 

 Sid sways, he's gone, no he recovers from out of bal- 

 ance. It is the inimitable drunken ride. Now he leans 

 dangerously far back, pours down a long draught of 

 "nose paint" from a bottle, the dangerously lurching 

 horse is on the dead run. Now look, he throws the 

 bottle high up in the air. Hootcha' la ! and with a wild 

 whoop drops into his saddle. Just to show you it 

 isn't the real stuff in the bottle, they show you their 



riding is the real stuff by all manner of wonderful 

 xt \77 



