laughing.

"Cool, all right," said Corson judicially. "And maybe he ain't just a
blow-hard, after all. There they go!"

It happened very quickly. Perris had shaken hands with Arizona, then
turned and leaped into the saddle. The ropes were loosed. Rickety
crouched a moment to feel out the reality of his freedom, then burst
away with head close to the ground and ragged mane fluttering. There was
no leaning back in this rider. He sat arrowy-straight save that his left
shoulder worked back in convulsive jerks as he strove to get the head of
Rickety up. But the piebald had the bit. Once his chin was tucked back
against his breast his bucking chances were gone and he kept his nose as
low as possible, like the trained fighter that he was. There were no
yells now. They received Rickety as the appreciative receive a great
artist--in silence.

The straight line of his flight broke into a crazy tangle of criss-cross
pitching. Out of this maze he appeared again in a flash of straight
galloping, used the impetus for a dozen jarring bucks, then reared and
toppled backward to crush the cowpuncher against the earth.

Marianne covered her eyes, but an invisible power dragged her hand down
and made her watch. She was in time to see Perris whisk out of the
saddle before Rickety struck the dirt. His hat had been snapped from his
head. The sun and the wind were in his flaming hair. Blue eyes and white
teeth flashed as he laughed again.

"I like 'em mean," he had said, "and I keep 'em mean. A tame horse is
like a tame man, and I don't give a damn for a fellow who won't fight!"