“Shore, doorin’ a contest a gent’s got to keep ridin’; he’s not allowed to pause an’ dally with the gander an’ delay the game.  To see to this a brace of brawny sharps is stationed by each pole with clubs in their willin’ hands to reemonstrate with any hoss or gent who slows down or stops as he goes onder the gander.

“Thar you have it, son; a brief but lively picture of a Gander Pullin’ as pulled former in blithe old Tennessee.  An’ you’ll allow, if you sets down to a ca’m, onja’ndiced study of the sport, that a half hour of reasonable thrill might be expected to flow from it.  Gander Pullin’s is popular a lot when I’m a yearlin’; I knows that for shore; though in a age which grows effete it’s mighty likely if we-all goes back thar now, we’d find it fallen into disuse as a reelaxation.

“In Ridin’ for the Chicken’s Head, a Mexican don’t hang up his prey none same as we-all does at Gander Pullin’s.  He buries it in the ground to sech degrees that nothin’ but the head an’ neck protroodes.  An’ as the Mexicans goes flashin’ by on their broncos, each in turn swings down an’ makes a reach for the chicken’s head.  The experiment calls for a shore-enough rider; as when a party is over on one side that a-way, an’ nothin’ to hold by but a left hand on the saddlehorn an’ a left spur caught in the cantle, any little old pull will fetch him out on his head.

“This day when Faro Nell comes bulgin’ up to amoose her young an’ idle cur’osity with the gayeties of Chihuahua, the Ridin’ for the Chicken’s Head is about to commence.  Which they’re jest plantin’ the chicken.  At first Nell don’t savey, as she ain’t posted deep on Mexican pastimes.  But Nell is plenty quick mental; as, actin’ look-out for Cherokee’s bank, she’s bound to be.  Wherefore Nell don’t study the preeliminaries long before she gets onto the roodiments of some idee concernin’ the jocund plans of the Greasers.

“At last the chicken is buried, an’ thar’s nothin’ in sight but its anxious head.  Except that it can turn an’ twist its neck some, it’s fixed in the ground as firm an’ solid as the stumps of a mesquite bush.

“The first Greaser—­he’s a gaudy party with more colours than you could count in any rainbow—­is organisin’ for a rush.  He’s pickin’ up his reins an’ pushin’ his moccasins deep into his tappedaries, when, as he gives his cayouse the spur, the beauty of Ridin’ for the Chicken’s Head bursts full on Faro Nell.  Comin’ on her onexpected, Nell don’t see no pleasure in it.  It don’t present the attractions which so alloores the heart of a Greaser.  Without pausin’ to think, an’ feelin’ shocked over the fate that’s ridin’ down on the buried chicken, Nell grips her little paws convulsive an’ snaps her teeth.  It’s then her eye catches Dan Boggs, who’s contemplatin’ details an’ awaitin’ the finish with vivid interest.

“‘Oh, Dan!’ says Nell, grabbin’ Dan’s arm, ’I don’t want that chicken hurt none!  Can’t you-all make ’em stop?’