I didn’t know anything about this bet until I had come to town and both parties tried to find out the merits of the horse—whether he would buck or not, and as I knew the stake money was going to be spent for drinks, I told each one a different story—the blacksmith he wouldn’t buck, the barber he would, so as to be sure to have the bet go as the blacksmith was a little scared, but he was a big, powerful young man and the horse was rather small, he took a chance. The bet was he had to ride the horse to the livery stable and back, which was about two blocks. He got on. With a death-grip, with the reins in one hand and the other on the saddle horn, he started and was getting along fine—going slow—when a stock man by name H. H. Nelson started by him going home. He had a big canvas overcoat on and could not resist the temptation to shake his coat as he rode by the bronc—and down went the bronc’s head. I think the first jump the saddle horn hit the blacksmith in the eye, and the next jump he was on the ground. Somebody caught the horse and helped the blacksmith up. He said, “That is all right. I have lost this bet, but I will make another one—I will whip Nelson the first time he comes to town.” We sure had a great time spending that eight dollars and I think everybody else spent all they had besides. We named that “A quiet day in Cascade,” and Charlie drew a picture of it, with chickens and dogs and everything running in all directions and some old man with a cane trying to get out of the way.