LET 'ER BUCK 



saddle — carefully now the old Winnamucca cinches up 

 and looks everything over. The lad cautiously adjusts 

 himself in the seat, the redman gives him a fatherly 

 pat on the leg. 



"My boy! he Tide urn!" and jumps away as the 

 blindfold is jerked off. A sudden spring, then like a 

 cyclone the cayuse starts sunfishing by throwing his 

 hind legs alternately to the right and left while jump- 

 ing with all four feet off the ground. 



"Stay with 'im cowboy!" yell the bleachers, as the 

 little animal twists, squirms, jumps, and pivots as only 

 an Indian pony can. The boy is game, and even 

 though the halter slips off, rides straight. 



"That man has only one hand," comments a 

 stranger. 



"That's John Spain!" responds a rancher. "He 

 said he'd ride, and drew Skyrocket, and he won't back 

 out, neither." 



We soon see one of the gamest exhibitions of The 

 Round-Up given by the former champion of 1911 

 when, through all the cyclonic convolutions of that 

 outlaw, Spain shows that he can ride not only without 

 one hand but without both if necessary. 



"Scratch 'im, Pete !" And Spain proceeds through 

 the upheaval, not only to keep a close seat but to make 

 his legs travel free, back and forth, along the sides of 

 the beast beneath him. 



"Lo'k'out cowboy when he comes down," warningly 

 yells an old pal. Now Spain's riding Wardalopa. 

 Something is wrong with the saddle, the intrepid John 

 is suddenly unloaded with a foot hung up in the stirrup 

 right square in front of the grandstand. Everyone is 

 on his feet; laymen gasp with wide mouths, women — 

 some — emit little screams of terror and old timers 



198 



