THE ROUND-UP 



As one cowpuncher takes a spill and reveals a bald 

 head, a voice yells out above the hullabaloo : 



"Look out you don't burn the top of your face 

 there, Bill." 



The crowd roars a short laugh of approval. So 

 they plunge, rear, bite, squeal, kick and strike, roll 

 and crowd, but it is a marvel how in the midst of this 

 mass of untamed horses and agile, strong men of 

 iron nerve, any escape this melee of teeth and 

 hoofs. Somehow they do, save for a few minor 

 injuries. 



But no ! something's happened — a mounted wrangler 

 has been yanked over sidewise — horse and all — a ter- 

 rific crushing fall, by the powerful wild thing he's 

 roped. See — a half dozen cowboys spring to his aid; 

 they know horses and men too well not to know some- 

 thing serious has happened. The limp figure, in its 

 black-spotted Angora chapps, is gently placed on a 

 stretcher — and they carry him to the first aid tent. 

 But it is too late ; a big fellow draws his sleeve across 

 his eyes. — It's little old Winnamucca Jack — he's ridden 

 into the Happy Hunting Grounds. 



The last horse is saddled, the signal is given to 

 mount. With only a halter rope for a rein they at- 

 tempt to ride and guide their horses around the track. 

 Each man mounts his steed — or tries to — and in this 

 hell-let-loose cyclone of centaurs, each endeavors first 

 to ride and then to guide his wild-crazy, bucking 

 animal around the track to the corrals. 



Such a scene may indeed warrant the expression of 

 one visiting onlooker w T ho qualified it as a "god- 

 snapped movey." 



Blindfolded, with pent-up ferocity, the untamed 

 outlaws feel for the first time, the man-things astride 



223 



