vites to it all his neighbors for
scores of leagues around. The bellowing cattle, the plunging steeds, the
excitement of lassoing some bull more refractory than usual, the hissing
of the iron as it sears the brand-mark deep into the animal's hide, all
these are elements of exquisite enjoyment to the unsophisticated Rarey
of the Plains. His great delight, on such occasions, is to display his
skill in lassoing an untamed colt, or in performing the feat called to
_colear_ a bull. He selects from the suspicious herd some fine young
three-year old, grazing somewhat apart from the main body, and creeps
silently towards it. Suddenly the lasso flies in snaky coils over the
head of the beast, and is drawn with strangulating tightness about its
neck. At the first plunge, a brother _hatero_ lassoes the animal's hind
legs, and it is permitted to rear and kick as frantically as it can,
until it drops to the ground exhausted and strangled. The Llanero
immediately approaches the prostrate colt, and deliberately beats its
head with a heavy bludgeon until it becomes quite senseless. He then
places his saddle upon its back, adjusts a murderous bit in its clammy
mouth, and seats himself firmly in the saddle at the moment when the
animal recovers strength enough to rise. The fearful plunges, the wild
bounds, the vicious attempts at biting, which ensue, are all in vain; in
a couple of days he subsides into a mere high-spirited trotter, whom one
can ride with ease after once effecting a mount.

The pastime of "tailing" a bull is somewhat singular. Two or three
horsemen single out an animal upon which to practise it, and secure a
lasso about its horns. Another lasso, deftly thrown about its hind legs,
is fastened to a tree, and the strongest of the party then seizes the
bellowing beast by its tail, which he twists until his victim falls over
on its side and is dispatched. The greatest dexterity is required in
this manoeuvre by all practising it, as the slacking of either lasso
enables the bull to turn upon his caudal persecutor, who is certain to
be gored to death. This, indeed, not unfrequently happens. But a Llanero
cares little for death. He faces it daily in his lonely converse with
thousands of intractable beasts, in his bath in the river swarming with
alligators,--in the swamp teeming with serpents, against whose poison
there is no antidote, and whose bite will destroy the life of a man in a
single hour. Content with the wild excitement