LET 'ER BUCK 



Tom broke like a boomerang into that terrific pound- 

 ing, bounding buck, which, if it does not unseat most 

 riders in the first three jumps, shakes their daylights 

 so that they welcome hitting the ground, it is so much 

 softer. 



Whang! in the back with the cantle of the saddle. 

 In Long Tom's bucking nearly a dozen men have left 

 old Tom's saddle unconscious on this account and 

 never knew why they left it. The big, hill-climbing 

 demon snorts, even groans with rage in the effort to 

 shake the clinging man thing from his back. 



Caldwell lets another foot of rope slide through his 

 hand on the next jump. 



"Ride 'im cowboy!" yell the buckaroos. 



The rider heels withers and toes rump with his 

 spurs. 



"That's raking him !" 



His spurs are dull, but a year from now I reckon 

 there'll be scars eight inches long on old Tom's hide. 

 See, at every jump the old outlaw deliberately jerks 

 his head and takes more rope, a few inches at a time. 

 If the rider's arm was straight out and the rope tight, 

 there would be no use of any man's trying to hold it. 



Three! — four! — five! — fifteen tremendous, vicious, 

 man-killing jumps you count, spiced with every art of 

 the old bucker's repertoire. Look, he's circling toward 

 the corrals, still inside the fence. 



Caldwell's breath is coming back a little, things have 

 ceased swimming. You know he is badly handicapped 

 through the blow on his chest and a rope too slack 

 to balance himself with. But his determination to 

 make the greatest ride of his life is as evident as is 

 the determination of the brute beneath him that he 

 shall not. 



216 



