well he understood cow-work! Turn him loose after
the bunch, and he would do the rest. All I had to do
was to stick to him. That in itself was no mean task,
for he turned like a flash, and was quick as a cat on
his feet. At night I always let him go foot free.
He would be there in the morning, and I could always
walk directly up to him with the bridle in plain
sight in my hand. Even at a feedless camp we once
made where we had shot a couple of deer, he did
not attempt to wander off in search of pasture, as
would most horses. He nosed around unsuccessfully
until pitch dark, then came into camp, and with great
philosophy stood tail to the fire until morning. I
could always jump off anywhere for a shot, without
even the necessity of "tying him to the ground," by
throwing the reins over his head. He would wait for
me, although he was never overfond of firearms.

Nevertheless Bullet had his own sense of dignity.
He was literally as gentle as a kitten, but he drew a
line. I shall never forget how once, being possessed
of a desire to find out whether we could swim our
outfit across a certain stretch of the Merced River, I
climbed him bareback. He bucked me off so quickly
that I never even got settled on his back. Then he
gazed at me with sorrow, while, laughing irrepressibly
at this unusual assertion of independent ideas,
I picked myself out of a wild-rose bush. He did not
attempt to run away from me, but stood to be saddled,
and plunged boldly into the swift water where