he instruction of experts who made but pastime of
picking a jack-rabbit in its flight, or bringing a kite, soaring high
in air, tumbling precipitate to earth. A wild life it was and a rough,
but fascinating nevertheless in its demonstration of the overwhelming
superiority of man, the animal, in nerve and endurance over every
other live thing on earth.

At the end of the year, with the hand of winter again pressed firmly
upon the land, it seemed time could do no more; that the adaptation of
the exotic to his new surroundings was complete. Already the past life
seemed a thing interesting but aloof from reality, like the fantastic
exploits of a hero of fiction, and the present, the insistently
active, vital present, the sole consideration of importance.

In the appreciation of the stoic indifference of the then West it was
a slight incident which overthrew. One cowboy, "Slim" Rawley, had a
particularly vicious broncho, which none but he had ever been able to
control, and which in consequence, he prized as the apple of his eye.
During his temporary absence from the ranch one day a _confrere_,
"Stiff" Warwick, had, in a spirit of bravado, roped the "devil" and
instituted a contest of wills. The pony was stubborn, the man
likewise, and a battle royal followed. As a buzzard scents carrion,
other cowboys anticipated sport, and a group soon gathered. Ere
minutes had passed the blood of the belligerents was up, and they were
battling as for life, with a dogged determination which would have
lasted upon the part of either, the man or the beast, until death.
Rough scenes and inhuman, Bye had witnessed until _blase_; but nothing
before like this. The man used quirt, rowel, and profanity like a
fiend. The pony, panting, quivering, bucking, struggling, covered with
foam and streaming with blood, shrilled with the impotent anger of a
demon. Even the impassive cowboy spectators from chaffing lapsed into
silence.

Of a sudden, loping easily over the frost-bound prairie and following
the winding trail of a cowpath, appeared the approaching figure of a
horse and rider. It came on steadily, clear to the gathered group, and
stopped. An instant and the newcomer understood the scene and a curse
sprang to his lips. Another instant and his own mustang was spurred in
close by the strugglers. His right hand raised in air and bearing a
heavy quirt, descended; not upon the broncho, but far across the
cursing, devilish face of the man, its rider.