when we had pushed the herd up the slope of a
butte, it made a break to get through a little hog-
back. The only way to head it was down a series of
rough boulder ledges laid over a great sheet of
volcanic rock. The man at the hog-back put his little
gray over the ledges and boulders, down the sheet of
rock,--hop, slip, slide,--and along the side hill in
time to head off the first of the mustangs. During the
ten days of riding I saw no horse fall. The animal
I rode, Button by name, never even stumbled.

In the Black Hills years ago I happened to be one
of the inmates of a small mining-camp. Each night
the work-animals, after being fed, were turned loose
in the mountains. As I possessed the only cow-pony
in the outfit, he was fed in the corral, and kept up
for the purpose of rounding up the others. Every
morning one of us used to ride him out after the
herd. Often it was necessary to run him at full speed
along the mountain-side, over rocks, boulders, and
ledges, across ravines and gullies. Never but once in
three months did he fall.

On the trail, too, they will perform feats little short
of marvelous. Mere steepness does not bother them
at all. They sit back almost on their haunches, bunch
their feet together, and slide. I have seen them go
down a hundred feet this way. In rough country
they place their feet accurately and quickly, gauge
exactly the proper balance. I have led my saddle-