When the sun parted the fog and looked down inquisitively, the whole
valley was pulsing with life, alight with color. The first real work of
the rodeo was beginning, like the ensemble of some vast, spectacular
play; and the stage was managed by Nature herself, creator of the
harmony of colors. The dark, glossy green of live oak, the tender green
of new willow leaves, the pale green of the mustard half buried in the
paler yellow of its blossoms, had here and there a splash of orange and
blue, where the poppies were refusing to give place to the lupines which
April wished to leave for May, when she came smiling to dwell for one
sweet month in the valley. The poppies had had their day. March had
brought them, and then had gone away and left them for the April showers
to pelt and play with; and now, when the redwoods on the mountainsides
were singing that May was almost here, a whole slope of poppies lingered
rebelliously to nod and peer and preen over the delights of the valley
just below. The lupines were shaking their blue heads distressfully at
the impertinence; and then here came the vaqueros galloping, and even
the lupines and poppies forgot their dispute in the excitement of
watching the fun.
As the roundups of our modern cattlemen "ride circle," so did those
velvet-jacketed, silver-braided horsemen gallop forth in pairs from a
common center that was the chosen rodeo ground.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185