LET 'ER BUCK 



When one sees a rider combine these facts and as 

 has been done add a puff now and then from a cigarette 

 into the bargain, while a dynamo of vicious energy 

 beneath him is trying to kick himself in the chin with 

 his hind legs and using every resource which horse 

 flesh knows how to use, one must admit that nowhere 

 in the world can such riding be equalled. 



"Them buckers they're wrangling sure be rarin' ter 

 go," chews a ranch hand behind us. They sure 

 "be." 



Look down in the arena where every eye is cen- 

 tered, on a group of four wranglers and two horses. 

 Watch Bill Ridings, Jess Brunn, Missouri Slim and 

 little old Wlnnamucca Jack, the Indian, a good wran- 

 gler and hand. You soon learn from his forestriking, 

 catlike twists, turns, biting and kicks that the 

 four-legged brute has never known man as master, 

 and that "wrangling" is no dance hall manager's 

 vocation. 



"Slim" Ridings now gets the horse tethered up and 

 blindfolded ready for the saddle but the cowboy or 

 his helper will saddle. Then as on the range, the 

 wranglers will leave the rest to the rider — taking out 

 the rough from his own horse. The wrangler's job is 

 in itself a very dangerous phase of the game. The 

 first move with the horse in hand is to work an old 

 gunny-sack as a blindfold over the bucker's eyes 

 between his halter leathers. This can be done with 

 many. 



It's that small grey "Snake" ! Watch the beggar as 

 on any attempt to tuck the gunny-sack blind between 

 his halter leathers or approach him, he strikes out 

 viciously with his fore feet ; he's no beauty doctor, his 

 massage is bad for the complexion. There ! a wrangler 



196 



