irrup, put in his toe, and went up in a flash, warned by something
in the blue roan's watchful eye. Like a flash the blue roan also went
up--but Andy had been a fraction of a second quicker. There was a
squeal that carried to the grand stand as the Weaver, wild-eyed and
with red flaring nostrils, pounded the wind-baked sod with high,
bone-racking jumps; changed and took to "weaving" till one wondered
how he kept his footing--more particularly, how Andy contrived to sit
there, loose-reined, firm-seated, riding easily. The roan, tiring of
that, began "swapping ends" furiously and so fast one could scarce
follow his jumps. Andy, with a whoop of pure defiance, yanked off his
hat and beat the roan over the head with it, yelling taunting words
and contemptuous; and for every shout the Weaver bucked harder and
higher, bawling like a new-weaned calf.

Men who knew good riding when they saw it went silly and yelled and
yelled. Those who did not know anything about it caught the infection
and roared. The judges galloped about, backing away from the living
whirlwind and yelling with the rest. Came a lull when the roan stood
still because he lacked breath to continue, and the judges shouted an
uneven chorus.

"Get down--the belt's yours"--or words to that effect. It was
unofficial, that verdict, but it was unanimous and voiced with
enthusiasm.

Andy turned his head and smiled acknowledgment. "All right--but wait
till I tame this hoss proper! Him and I've got a point to settle!" He
dug in his spurs and again the battle raged, and again the crowd, not
having heard the unofficial decision, howled and yelled approval of
the spectacle.

Not till the roan gave up completely and owned obedience to rein and
voiced command, did Andy take further thought of the reward. He
satisfied himself beyond doubt that he was master and that the Weaver
recognized him as such. He wheeled and turned, "cutting out" an
imaginary animal from an imaginary herd; he loped and he walked,
stopped dead still in two jumps and started in one. He leaned and ran
his gloved hand forgivingly along the slatey blue neck, reached
farther and pulled facetiously the roan's ears, and the roan meekly
permitted the liberties. He half turned in the saddle and slapped the
plump hips, and the Weaver never moved. "Why, you're an all-right
little hoss!" praised Andy, slapping again and again.

The decision was being bellowed from the megaphone and Andy, hearing
it thus offici