"Bareback he says he will ride that son of Satanas!" jeered a
wine-roughened voice. "Boaster that he is, look you how he stands! He is
afraid even to lasso that yellow one!"
Jack was indeed deliberate in his movements. He stood still while the
horse circled him twice with head and tail held high. When Solano
brought up with a flourish on the far side of the corral, Jack turned to
Dade and Valencia standing guard at the main gate, their horses barring
the opening.
"See that it's kept clear out in front," he told them. "I'll come out
a-flying when I do come, most likely."
Whereat those who heard him laughed derisively. "Never to the gate will
you ride him, gringo--even so you touch his back! Not twice will the
devil give you luck," they yelled, while they scrambled for the choicest
positions.
Jack, standing in the center quietly, smiled at them, and gave the flip
downward and forward that formed the little loop to which he seemed so
partial. He tossed that loop upward, straight over his head; a careless
little toss, it looked to those who watched. His hand began to rotate
upon his supple wrist joint--and like a live corkscrew the rawhide loop
went up, and up, and up, and grew larger while it climbed.
Solano snorted; and the noise was like a gun in the dead silence while
those thousands watched this miracle of a rawhide riata that apparently
climbed of its own accord into the air.
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