The Cougar, being a sure enough range horse and with real mustang[4] blood to boot carried his ears in the ways of that kind. He'd look at a man thru the shute timbers and with his ears _straight ahead_, but in them eyes under the shadow of them ears was a fair picture of what would happen if that man ever stepped in that shute with him. It didn't need no imagination to see it either. [Footnote 4: Of the early Spanish.] Never did The Cougar lay his ears back unless he was sure of his victim. When he did there'd be an ambulance wagon racing thru the arena and remarks in queer low tones passed by white faced folks up in the grandstand, which all kept accumulating and piled up in The Cougar's reputation as a bad horse. * * * * * A little bit of a freckle faced hombre who'd made the "grand finals" was along the shute one day and "up" to ride The Cougar. He'd come from acrost the border, and thru the first three days of the rodeo had proved himself to be a "ranahan"[5] in bronc riding as well as in steer roping. [Footnote 5: Top hand.] "By golly," he was heard to say as The Cougar was hazed into the saddling shute, "I've come a long ways to get a setting at that pony." He felt of his taped spurs to make sure they was there to stay, "and if you watch close," he went on, grinning, "I'll give you all a few lessons on how to play a tune with a spur rowel at the tip of a pony's ears." The little "vaquero"[6] was feeling good, he hadn't been to town for a year or more, and a chance to ride a mean horse where there was folks around was a big change to him; barrel cactus and Spanish dagger had been the only witnesses to his riding ability, and riding a side-winding pony on dobie flats or high mesas wasn't so apt to bring out the best in a rider as when in a nice arena where there's a band playing and folks a cheering. [Footnote 6: Cowboy.] "There's a horse to my liking," he says as he took a look at The Cougar. The way that pony was acting while being saddled didn't faze the rider none at all, the grin on his face kept a spreading all the wider as he made ready to climb the chute; he'd handled many a fighting horse, and to him they all could do only one thing, and that was their worst. As a true rider of the range he welcomed anything that'd test his skill and ability, and if The Cougar had come straight up from hell, wore horns, a forked tail, and cloven hoof, he'd of grinned all the more and bet his year's earnings that he could send him back to where he came with his tail between his legs and hollering "enough." "Rider up," hollered the hazer, but the judges was already watching, for it was The Cougar "coming out." The cowboy let out a war whoop and grinned as the chute gate flew open and The Cougar came "uncorked," he packed that grin past the judges and at the same time "reefed" (spurred) the earth jarring outlaw with _taped_ rowels from back of the ear to the back of the saddle skirts.