As for the wild riders from the cattle ranges, they drew into a close
group with the ringmaster between them and the gaunt stallion, almost as
if the fearless ones were seeking for protection. But the announcer
himself lost his almost invincible _sang-froid_; in all his matchless
vocabulary there were no sounding phrases ready for this occasion, and
little Werther strutted in the centre of the great arena, rising to his
opportunity.
He imitated the ringmaster's phraseology. "La-a-a-dies and gen'l'mun,
the price has gone up. The 'death-defyin', dare-devils that laugh at
danger' ain't none too ready to ride my hoss. Maybe the price is too low
for 'em. It's raised. One thousand dollars--cash--for any man in
hearin' of me that'll ride my pet."
There was a stir among the cattlemen, but still none of them moved
forward toward the great horse; and as if he sensed his victory he
raised and shook his ugly head and neighed. A mighty laugh answered that
challenge; this was a sort of "horse-humour" that great New York could
not overlook, and in that mirth even the big grey man, Drew, joined.
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