Down over the bank he went, and when he landed he had his head between his front legs and went to bucking from there. By some miracle the breed stuck him for half a dozen jumps, then he made a circle in the air and landed on all fours at the foot of the bank. A shadow on the ground and right by him made the breed reach for his gun near as quick as he landed; it was the shadow of the horse and _too close_; his gun was out of the holster and he turned to use it; but he was just the splinter of a second too late, and the six-shooter was buried in the ground as Smoky, like a big cougar, pounced on him. CHAPTER XII "WHEN THE GOOD LEAVES" Big posters was tacked on the telegraph poles all around the little town of Gramah. Them posters could be seen in many windows of the town's stores, and advertised the coming rodeo and cowboys' reunion. Amongst the prizes that was wrote down on the poster was prints from photographs of bucking horses and steers, and taking most of the room in the centre of it was the picture of a bucking horse which outdone all the others. It showed that horse throwing his rider in a way few riders ever get throwed. Then in big letters underneath was the words: THE COUGAR CHALLENGES THE WORLD'S BEST. The Cougar was the name of a bucking horse, the main attraction, and challenger to all the good riders of the country. No line was drawed as to where them riders came from or how far, and the purse that was offered for the one who could ride that horse and scratch him was enough to make any good rider want to come a long ways and try. Many had come and tried him at other rodeos and where The Cougar had performed, and found that that pony was no ordinary bucking horse, and as all that tried him could tell, afterwards, there was more than his bucking to contend with; he was mean, there was murder in his eye, and if it wasn't for the "pick-up" men who hazed him, many a cowboy would of been pawed to pieces even before he could of hit the ground. That pony seemed to have a grudge against humans in general; his ambition was for exterminating 'em all off the face of the earth. But there was one thing which the riders noticed in him as most queer, and that was in the way he seemed to hate some humans worse than others,--his hate was plainest for the face that showed dark. A story followed the horse, and which kept a being repeated as rider met rider at different rodeos and frontier day celebrations. It was that the horse had been found on the desert, amongst a bunch of wild horses and packing an empty saddle. There'd been dried blood sticking to the hair along his jaw, and some more on his knees; the horse had been roped and tied down and the riders had looked for signs of wounds or cuts on his hide but nary a scratch had been found. [Illustration: The horse had been found out in the desert, amongst a bunch of wild horses and packing an empty saddle.]