pendulum-like swoop. His misfortune was greeted by laughter and ironic cheers. Several mounted men shook loose their riatas and loped away after his horse.
But the chicken's good luck was at an end. The next contestant caught it by the neck and rode down the course swinging it triumphantly.
"That is what I do not like," said Daphne, unexpectedly. "Poor chicken."
"The shock breaks its neck," said the Colonel, "and José will have gallina to-night."
"I know: but I do not like it," insisted Daphne.
The next event should have pleased her better. Here horsemen armed with long and slender lances tilted at rings suspended and swaying in the light breeze. The audience, however, evinced but a languid interest in this graceful sport. It woke up for the next event, which was a race between a man afoot and a man horseback, twenty-five yards and back. This was very exciting. The man had the advantage of his quick start and quick turn; the horse of course possessed the speed. Anybody could try who wished; and there were a number of young men who confidently matched their legs or those of their horses against the other fellow. Here was a chance to bet; and the crowd took advantage of it. Then followed, of course, horse races—mere dashes of a hundred yards or so; the roping of very lively goats, that dodged fairly under the horse's legs or into the crowd which scattered laughing; and roping and tying calves against time.
"We used to have bronco riding, and bull-dogging steers," observed the Colonel regretfully, "but that is a little rough and dangerous unless you can get the people behind fences or some sort of protection. It is better at the roundup."
"What is bull-dogging?" asked Kenneth.
"The man rides up alongside the steer, seizes him by the horns and throws him."
"I don't see how he stays on"
"His horse? He doesn't. He leaves the saddle, and lets his horse go."
"And wrestles down a full grown steer by main strength?" cried Kenneth, incredulously.
