The little horse realized somehow as he sized up the contraption that the end had come to all he'd enjoyed with the freedom he'd had, cool shades,--clear streams, and grassy ranges to all roam on as he pleased had been took away from him; he didn't know what was to come next, but he did know that he was on that creek bottom, close to corrals, and there to stay for a spell. CHAPTER V THE BRONC TWISTER STEPS UP A cloud of dust was hanging on over the big corrals where Clint, the bronc twister of the Rocking R outfit, was busy starting raw broncs under the saddle and "twisted" 'em in shape for good saddle stock. It was long, hot, and hard days for that cowboy as he wrestled with the slick, fat, and snorty ponies and convinced 'em that they all could be led, rode, and handled according to the way he seen fit; but Clint was used to that, he'd been at it for years with nary a rest or relief from the work that was beginning to tell on him. He'd take ten broncs at a time and soon as he'd took the rough off them ten he'd turn 'em over as broke and run in ten more raw, wild ponies. Each green colt was rode every day if even only for half an hour, and gradually learned to behave under the saddle. There was a few that wouldn't learn to behave, but the Rocking R outfit had good men and all them ponies was put in to their work whether they was good or bad. Clint had been with the layout for near two years, and in that time had broke to ride somewheres around eighty head of horses. He'd broke many more for other outfits and never made an outlaw, if one did turn outlaw once in a while it was because of that pony's natural instinct to be that way, but Clint handled and rode 'em all just the same,--if a perticular horse couldn't be learned it sure wasn't his fault and none had better try to learn that same horse _anything_. As has been said before, bronc fighting was beginning to tell on Clint,--none of them ponies he'd broke had spared him, and instead they'd called on for all that was in him. Many had tried to tear him apart and scatter him in the dust of the big corrals; hoofs had come like greased lightning and took hunks off his bat-wing chaps, teeth had took a few shirts off his back, and as he'd climbed on one after another of these wild, kinky ponies they most all tried to see if they could move the heart of him from one side of his body to the other.