We were informed at breakfast by the railroad manager that there was to
be that day a "round-up," which is to say, a regular Buffalo Bill Show,
with real cowboys, ponies, and cattle, all three of them wild, full of
thorns, and just out of the brush.
The negro porters got out the saddles of the young women, thus
disclosing their intention to ride ponies instead of in traps. We
already knew that they were fearless horseback-riders, but when the
string of ponies which were to be our mounts was led up by a few
Mexicans, the Captain and I had our well-concealed doubts about their
being proper sort of ponies for young girls to ride. We confided in an
imperturbable cowboy--one of those dry Texans. He said: "Them are what
we would call broke ponies, and you fellers needn't get to worryin'
'bout them little girls--you're jest a-foolin' away good time."
Nevertheless, the broncos had the lurking devil in the tails of their
eyes as they stood there tied to the wire fencing; they were humble and
dejected as only a bronco or a mule can simulate. When that ilk look
most cast down, be not deceived, gay brother; they are not like this.
Their humility is only humorous, and intended to lure you on to their
backs, where, unless you have a perfect understanding of the game, the
joke will be on you. Instantly one is mounted, the humility departs; he
plunges and starts about, or sets off like the wind, regardless of
thorny bushes, tricky ground underfoot, or the seat of the rider.
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