I. ENTER THE MAN

Some notable sight was drawing the passengers, both men and
women, to the window; and therefore I rose and crossed the car to
see what it was. I saw near the track an enclosure, and round it
some laughing men, and inside it some whirling dust, and amid the
dust some horses, plunging, huddling, and dodging. They were cow
ponies in a corral, and one of them would not be caught, no
matter who threw the rope. We had plenty of time to watch this
sport, for our train had stopped that the engine might take water
at the tank before it pulled us up beside the station platform of
Medicine Bow. We were also six hours late, and starving for
entertainment. The pony in the corral was wise, and rapid of
limb. Have you seen a skilful boxer watch his antagonist with a
quiet, incessant eye? Such an eye as this did the pony keep upon
whatever man took the rope. The man might pretend to look at the
weather, which was fine; or he might affect earnest conversation
with a bystander: it was bootless. The pony saw through it. No
feint hoodwinked him. This animal was thoroughly a man of the
world. His undistracted eye stayed fixed upon the dissembling foe,
and the gravity of his horse-expression made the matter one of
high comedy. Then the rope would sail out at him, but he was
already elsewhere; and if horses laugh, gayety must have abounded
in that corral. Sometimes the pony took a turn alone; next he had
slid in a flash among his brothers, and the whole of them like a
school of playful fish whipped round the corral, kicking up the
fine dust, and (I take it) roaring with laughter. Through the
window-glass of our Pullman the thud of their mischievous hoofs
reached us, and the strong, humorous curses of the cow-boys. Then