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謝謝觀看

                   

A big mountain sheep rounded a corner with a little flock behind him.

Terry dropped the leader with a snapshot and watched the flock

scamper down what was almost the sheer face of a cliff—a beautiful bit

of acrobatics. They found foothold on ridges a couple of inches deep,

hardly visible to the eye from above. Plunging down a straight drop

without a sign of a ledge for fifty feet below them, they broke the force of

the fall and slowed themselves constantly by striking their hoofs from

side to side against the face of the cliff. And so they landed, with

bunched feet, on the first broad terrace below and again bounced over

the ledge and so out of sight.

He dined on wild mutton that evening. In the morning he hunted

along the edge of the cliffs until he came to a difficult route down to the

valley. An ordinary horse would never have made it, but El Sangre was

in his glory. If he had not the agility of the mountain sheep, he was wellnigh as level-headed in the face of tremendous heights. He knew how to

pitch ten feet down to a terrace and strike on his bunched hoofs so that

the force of the fall would not break his legs or unseat his rider. Again he

understood how to drive in the toes of his hoofs and go up safely

through loose gravel where most horses, even mustangs, would have

skidded to the bottom of the slope. And he was wise in trails. Twice he

rejected the courses which Terry picked, and the rider very wisely let

him have his way. The result was that they took a more winding, but a

far safer course, and arrived before midmorning in the bottomlands.

The first ranch house he applied to accepted him. And there he took

up his work.

It was the ordinary outfit—the sun- and wind-racked shack for a

house, the stumbling outlying barns and sheds, and the maze of corral

fences. They asked Terry no questions, accepted his first name without

an addition, and let him go his way.

He was happy enough. He had not the leisure for thought or for remembering better times. If he had leisure here and there, he used it

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industriously in teaching El Sangre the "cow" business. The stallion

learned swiftly. He began to take a joy in sitting down on a rope.

At the end of a week Terry won a bet when a team of draught horses

hitched onto his line could not pull El Sangre over his mark, and broke

the rope instead. There was much work, too, in teaching him to turn in

the cow-pony fashion, dropping his head almost to the ground and

bunching his feet altogether. For nothing of its size that lives is so deft in

dodging as the cow-pony. That part of El Sangre's education was not

completed, however, for only the actual work of a round-up could give

him the faultless surety of a good cow-pony. And, indeed, the ranchman

declared him useless for real roundup work.

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