than that in which he presented himself at Apache Teju. After deciding
that he would leave the railroad and become a cowboy, he had scraped
together, in Heaven knows what devious ways and by what lucky chances,
the apparel of state in which he set forth on his new life.

The next morning there was trouble in the corral. Kid had been
directed to mount an old and gentle pony whose meek and humble
appearance did not at all agree with his ideas of the sort of steed
Broncho Bob should bestride. There was in the corral a black horse
called Dynamite, a mettlesome young thing whose one specialty was
bucking. And of this it never failed to give a continuous performance
from the time a rider mounted its back until he was dislodged. Kid was
determined to ride Dynamite. Texas Bill and Red Jack were trying to
persuade him out of his notion by telling him how dangerous the horse
was, and how he once landed Mr. Williams, the best rider on the whole
ranch, on top of the house.

"Suppose he did," blustered the Kid. "He won't land me on top of the
house, nor on top of the ground, neither. I tell you, I ain't afraid
to fork any horse that ever bucked! I can ride anything that wears
hair! You hear me shout? Anything that wears hair!"

"See here, youngster," said Texas Bill, in his longest and most
indifferent drawl, "I 've been ridin' horses more years than you 've
been born, an' I 've tamed more pitchin' horses than you ever saw any
other kind, an' I ain't a little bit afraid of a pitchin' horse. I 'm
a whole, big, blazin' lot afraid!"

"What if you are?" retorted Kid. "I don't have to be a coward 'cause
you 're one!"