Snap: A legend of the Lone MountainPhillipps-Wolley, Clive
General
Snap: A legend of the Lone Mountain
Phillipps-Wolley, Clive
Canadian Rockies (B.C. and Alta.) -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Mountaineering -- Fiction
'All right, boys, let's have another go at him,' assented Wharton;
and Wharton, Tony, Snap, and another rode quietly out to surround and
drive in the veteran. The ponies certainly entered into the spirit
the thing. Anything more meek and more innocent than 'the Cradle' as
he wandered casually out with Snap on his back, now and then stopping
for a mouthful of grass, and again turning his back completely on the
bull, Snap thought he had never seen. And yet somehow the ponies
were all round the bull, and, unless he had the pluck to run the
gauntlet, he had only one way open to him, and that led into the
small corral. Little by little they drew in, pushing their victim so
slowly in front of them that he must still have believed that he was
choosing his own course, and only moving at all because he wished to.
By quiet, clever generalship old Wharton and his boys got the bull
within a short run of the corral. Then the bull began to hesitate.
He evidently 'smelt a rat,' and did not mean to go another yard.
This was the critical moment. Swinging their lariats round their
heads, the four riders dashed at the bull with a yell which would
have turned a party of Zulus white with envy. Snap, not to be
outdone, yelled in chorus what was really a relic of the old hunting
days at Fairbury, and clashed forward with the rest. For a moment
the grand old beast lowered his great shaggy front, and looked as if
he meant to stand the charge. If he had done so, the band of
horsemen must have split upon him as waves upon a rock. But the yell
and the swinging lassoes were too much for his nerves. Turning
slowly, he galloped into the corral, the horses dashed after him, the
huge bars of the fence were put back into their places, and the scrub
bull was fairly caged. So far, so good. But this same bull had
often been caged before, and was still unbranded.
'Will you rope him, Tony?' asked Wharton.
'You bet,' replied that worthy, divesting himself of pretty nearly
everything except his lasso, so as to be 'pretty handy over them
rails, if so be as it's necessary,' he explained.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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