Then each of us in succession would choose a horse (for his string), I as owner of the ranch being given the first choice on each round, so to speak.

The first time I was ever on a round-up Sylvane Ferris, Merrifield, Meyer, and I each chose his string in this fashion.
Three or four of the animals I got were not easy to ride.

The effort both to ride them and to look as if I enjoyed doing so, on some cool morning when my grinning cowboy friends had gathered round "to see whether the high-headed bay could buck the boss off," doubtless was of benefit to me, but lacked much of being enjoyable.

The time I smashed my rib I was bucked off on a stone.

The time I hurt the point of my shoulder I was riding a big, sulky horse named Ben Butler, which went over backwards with me.