Pan to the
heart. "Aw, mama, it ain't nuthin'. I'm just a bloody cowpuncher."

Pan was not quite six years old when he rode to his first roundup,
which occurred that summer early in June. His glory in the experience
was marred by shame because he had to appear before all these cowboys
without a saddle on his horse. He had feared just exactly what
happened.

"Wal, heah comes the Ridin' Kid from Loco Range," said one, edging near
to Pan, with a smile on his shining red face.

"Sonny, yo're forkin' a grand hoss, but you forgot to saddle him,"
remarked another, with a twinkle of gray eyes.

"Fellars, this heah is Panhandle Smith, kid of the homesteader, over by
the river. I heerd Pan's a trick bareback rider."

These genial fiery young men, lithe and tall and round limbed,
breathing the life and spirit of the range, crowded round Pan, proving
that there never was a cowboy who did not like youngsters.

"Say kid, I'll swap saddles with you," spoke up the one who had first
addressed him.

Pan's heart was palpitating. How could they know how beautiful and
wonderful they looked to him? If it had not been that he was riding
Curly bareback! They were making fun of him. Tears were not far from
his eyes.

"Young fellar, I'll bet this nag of yourn can't run fast enough to
ketch cold," spoke up another.

"I'll bet he kin," added a third.

"Pan, do this to them," put in the cowboy who appeared to know him, and
suiting act to word he placed his thumb to his nose and twiddled his
finger. "Do that, Pan. That'll shore shut them up."

Pan found himself impelled to do as he was bidden, which action raised
a howl of mirth from the cowboys.

And so at that early age Panhandle Smith was initiated into the
hilarity and trickery and spirit common to these carefree riders of the
ranges.

When the roundup began he found that he was far from forgotten.

"Come on, Pan," shouted one. "Ride in heah an' help me.... Turn 'em
back, kid."

Pan rode like the wind, breathless and radiant, beside himself with
bliss.

Then another rider would yell to him: "Charge him, cowboy. Fetch him
back."

And Pan, scarcely knowing what he was doing, saw with wild eyes how the
yearling or calf would seem to be driven by him. There was always a
cowboy near him, riding fast, yet close, yelling to him, making him a
part of the roundup.

At the noon hour an older man, no doubt the rancher who owned the
cattle, called off the work. A l