t in front," he told them. "I'll come out
a-flying when I do come, most likely."

Whereat those who heard him laughed derisively. "Never to the gate will
you ride him, gringo--even so you touch his back! Not twice will the
devil give you luck," they yelled, while they scrambled for the choicest
positions.

Jack, standing in the center quietly, smiled at them, and gave the flip
downward and forward that formed the little loop to which he seemed so
partial. He tossed that loop upward, straight over his head; a careless
little toss, it looked to those who watched. His hand began to rotate
upon his supple wrist joint--and like a live corkscrew the rawhide loop
went up, and up, and up, and grew larger while it climbed.

Solano snorted; and the noise was like a gun in the dead silence while
those thousands watched this miracle of a rawhide riata that apparently
climbed of its own accord into the air.

The loop, a good ten feet in diameter, swirled horizontally over his
head. The coil in his hand was paid out until there was barely enough to
give him power over the rest. His hand gave a quick motion sidewise, and
the loop dropped true, and settled over the head of Solano.

Jack flung a foot backward and braced himself for the pull, the riata
drawn across one thigh in the "hip-hold" which cowboys use to-day when
they rope from the ground. Solano gave one frightened lunge and brought
up trembling with surprise.

That he knew nothing of the feel of a rope worked now to Jack's
advantage, for sheer astonishment held the horse quiet. A flip, and the
riata curled in a half-hitch over Solano's nose; and Jack was edging
slowly towards him, his hands moving along the taut riata like a sailor
climbing a rope.

Solano backed, shook his head futilely, snorted, and rolled his
eyes--mere frills of resentment that formed no real opposition to Jack's
purpose. Five minutes of maneuvering to get close, and Jack had twisted
his fingers in the taffy-colored mane; he went up, and landed fairly in
the middle of Solano's rounded back and began swiftly coiling the
trailing riata.

"Get outa the way, there!" he yelled, and raked the big spurs backward
when Solano's forefeet struck the ground after going high in air. Like a
bullet they went out of that corral and across the open space where the
duel had been fought, with Dade and Valencia spurring desperately after.

It took a long ten minutes to bring Solano back, chafing, but owning
Jack's