When I got up and looked around everything was as silent as a graveyard. Those men and the boss were sitting on their horses looking at each other with a grin on their faces, that I couldn’t tell whether it was pity or disgust and, of course, I had no alibi. I got back on Humpy and took another rake at him and he galloped off as nice as you please. We had about two miles to ride to the house. Nobody said anything, only the boss. He said he was afraid some of them colts would buck harder than Humpy did. I didn’t answer him. But before we got ready to gather those colts, somebody brought a horse to the ranch that the outfit had sold to a livery stable in Big Sandy for a buggy horse. I found out afterwards that the reason was nobody could ride him. He had a wide reputation and was known as S.Y. (from his brand) all over the country. The weather being bad when they sold him on trial to the livery stable they didn’t hitch him up for about a month and had fed him grain all that time. So when they did try him out he kicked the buggy all to pieces and ran away. So they sent him home, as they didn’t want him. He was a beautiful horse, weighed about 1150 and built like a greyhound, and I was itching to tie into S.Y., as I knew my standing was bad, and I asked the boss to let me try him out. He told me it would be useless, as one of the best riders in the state had given that horse up as a bad job. Then I kidded him and told him I didn’t think the horse could buck at all, was just a plow horse. Anyway I rode S.Y. and as I knew I had to make good, I scratched him everywhere I could reach him and, of course, I was made from then on. I never rode him again and I know I was lucky that day, as that horse had throwed better riders than I ever was. I broke about thirty head of colts for the outfit before I quit the job. When I was young I never stayed anywhere very long. If I didn’t get fired, I would quit and in the winter time I liked to live in town, so when spring came and time to go to work, I was always broke. No saddle, no boots, no nothing. If possible I would hunt Charlie Russell up for help. I used to think up a pretty good hard luck tale to tell him. But before I got started he would laugh and say, “What do you need now?” Charlie didn’t always have money either, but had good credit and could always get anything he wanted. Indians, cowboys, gamblers, everybody borrowed off Charlie and I don’t know if they all paid him back or not—if they didn’t Charlie would never tell it to anyone.