And always, amid the confusion of the frenzied animals, the figure of the mounted man in their midst could be seen calmly directing their wildest movements, and soon, out from the crowding, jostling, whirling mass of flying feet and tossing manes and tails, the black with the white star shot toward the gate.

Bob's horse leaped aside from the way.

Curly's horse was between the black and his mates, and before the animal could gather his confused senses he was in the larger corral.

The day's work had begun.
The black dodged skillfully, and the loop of Curly's riata missed the mark.
"You better let somebody put eyes in that rope, Curly," remarked Phil, laconically, as he stepped aside to avoid a wild rush.
The chagrined cowboy said something in a low tone, so that Little Billy could not hear.
The Dean chuckled.
Bob's riata whirled, shot out its snaky length, and his trained horse braced himself skillfully to the black's weight on the rope.

For a few minutes the animal at the loop end of the riata struggled desperately--plunging, tugging, throwing himself this way and that; but always the experienced cow-horse turned with his victim and the rope was never slack.