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"You did well, Mr. Fraser from Texas," Jed complimented him, with

a smile that thinly hid his malice. "But it won't do to have you

going back to Texas with the word that Wyoming is shy of riders.

I ain't any great shakes, but I reckon I'll have to take a whirl

at Rocking Horse." He had decided to ride for two reasons. One

was that he had glimpsed the girl among the firs; the other was

to dissipate the admiration his rival had created among the men.

Briscoe lounged toward the remuda, rope in hand. It was his cue

to get himself up picturesquely in all the paraphernalia of the

cowboy. Black-haired and white-toothed, lithe as a wolf, and

endowed with a grace almost feline, it was easy to understand how

this man appealed to the imagination of the reckless young

fellows of this primeval valley. Everything he did was done well.

Furthermore, he looked and acted the part of leader which he

assumed.