He added this last as if he really meant it, and left Bowles to wonder at his emphasis--but not for long. The times called for action. He was a puncher now, and it was necessary for him to lasso his mount. So, shaking out his new rope, which snarled and crawled in a most disconcerting fashion, the new cowboy dropped down into the corral, while everybody who could conveniently do so stepped up and looked over the fence. But Bowles had had a few days' training at the hands of Jim Scrimsher, the livery-stable keeper and all-round horse trader and confidence man at Chula Vista, and he shook out a fairly good loop. Then, swinging it above his head, he advanced upon the gray, who promptly put the whole herd between them, and raced along next the fence. The roan came along just then and Bowles made a cast at him and caught two others, who instantly made away with his rope. A yell went up from along the top of the fence; and with many shouts of encouragement and veiled derision, they threw him a new rope. This was a worn one and capable of dexterous handling, and, with a set smile on his face, Bowles shook out a big loop and advanced cautiously upon the roan. By this time he, too, had read the hypnotic message of the eye, and had crowded well in behind the main herd, which was dashing around the corral with ever-increasing speed. The slashing rope-work of the old hands had already left the horse herd nervous and flighty, and something about the way Bowles whirled his wide-flung loop seemed to drive them into a frenzy. A shout of warning went up, and then another, and then, as Wa-ha-lote made another balk at the gate, Hardy Atkins rushed out through the cloud of dirt and signaled him to stop. "What do you want to do?" he yelled. "Break down the fence?" He edged in on the leaders as he spoke and soon brought them to a halt; then, with his eyes on another horse, he stepped in close, dragging his loop, until suddenly he whipped it over the old gray's head and jerked him out of the herd. "Here's yore hawse," he said, handing him over the rope's end. "And, say, if you can't rope without swingin' a Mother Hubbard, jest let me ketch yore hawse!" "Why, what's the matter?" inquired Bowles. "Oh, nawthin'," sneered the bronco-twister, "only it skeers 'em to death--that's all. Old Henry generally gives a man his time fer swingin' his loop in the corral."