362 Recreations of a Sportsman 



of little trails made by sheep and foxes. They 

 were just wide enough for a horse's hoofs, but 

 no Eastern rider would think of running a horse 

 at full speed over one; he would dismount and 

 lead his steed. But such a rider here would 

 have been run over and bowled down the caiion 

 side. I had had several years of w r hat I con- 

 sidered hard riding on the foothills of the Sierra 

 Madre, chasing the wolf, but this capped the 

 climax. Up the side of the caiion the lithe 

 island-born horses went; some zigzagging, others 

 making it in bounds, plunging into the brush, 

 the men shouting at the sheep which ran blindly 

 on into the dust-clouds, anyway to escape the 

 unseen yelling crowd. Coming to an open place 

 they would stampede down the caiion, lose their 

 footing, and roll over and over, like balls, bawl- 

 ing like sheep, and after them came the copper- 

 tinted dust cloud, Whitley spurring his broncho, 

 that went headlong down the caiion side, bits 

 and spurs rattling, yelling like a madman, with 

 others after him. Crash! and a broncho went 

 sliding by me until the pommel caught in a 

 manzanita bush which held it, until Clementi 

 rolled down also, cleared it, and mounted again. 

 If a horse refused to run or walk, down he 

 slid, and if he could not or would not slide, 

 he got down some way. Men were dashing along 

 the narrow sheep trails at full speed, directing 

 the horses by bending the body to right or left. 



