He might confess to "nerves" in private; in public, there were men who
marveled at his calm.
Riatas uncoiled and with each end fastened to a saddle horn, the
vaqueros filed out from the corral in two straight lines, with Dade and
Valencia to lead the way. When they were placed to Dade's liking, the
riatas fenced in a rectangle two hundred yards long, and one-third that
distance across. At each riata length, all down the line, a vaquero sat
quiet upon his horse, a living fence-post holding the riata fence tight
and straight. Down the middle of the arena thus formed easily with
definite boundaries, peons were stretching, upon forked stakes, a rope
spliced to reach the whole six hundred feet--save that a space of fifty
feet was left open at each end so that the combatants might, upon
occasion, change sides easily.
Twice Dade paced the width of the area to make sure that the dividing
line marked the exact center. When the last stake was driven deep and
the rope was knotted securely in place, he rode straight to the corral
and pulled up before the judges' stand for his final announcement.
It was a quiet crowd now that he faced. A mass of men and women, tense,
silent, ears and eyes strained to miss no smallest detail. He had no
need to lift his hand for their attention; he had it--had it to the
extent that every man there was unconscious of his neighbor. That roped
area was something new, something they had not been expecting.
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