“That’s a smaller noose than you would use on the range, is it not?”

“No,” answered Mr. Ohnimus, “the vaquero never carries his noose long.  If he did, it would be constantly getting tangled up in the horse’s legs.  He makes it larger when he swings it.  But to get back to the process of lassoing.  As our cowboy gets close to his quarry, he takes the noose in his lasso hand.  I will use my left, as it is a trifle handier for me.  He grips the rope, not too firmly, holding the standing part and the side of the noose about half the length of the loop away from the knot.  That is to enable him to swing the noose so that it will fall open.  If he holds it at the knot he will throw a long, narrow noose that is very likely to cross and kink.

“Meanwhile I, representing our cowboy, hold the remaining coils in my other hand, only changing the position of my forefinger so as to secure better control of the coils.  Then comes the third maneuver—­enlarging the noose.  Of course, you have to have a larger noose than one a foot in diameter to drop over a steer’s horns forty feet away.  The noose is enlarged by swinging the noose in your lasso hand until the centrifugal force pulls it out the size you wish (this is the reason you do not grasp it too firmly), letting go with the other hand, of course, as many coils as are necessary to make the noose the right size.  Now you have the noose in the air you do not cease making it circle around your head until you let it go.  When the noose has been let out to the right size the next trouble is to keep it open and to avoid entangling it in the brush or other surrounding obstructions.  You keep it open, as I said, by holding the noose from quarter to half its length from the knot, and by a peculiar twist of the wrist that is only attainable by practice.  To keep it clear of the brush is often a more difficult job, for the cowboy is not always in a clear place when he wants to throw his rope.  Then it is that his judgment comes into play and determines whether his cast is a lost one or not.  I have seen vaqueros swing a lasso swiftly almost in the midst of a thicket, and keep it clear without losing speed, and then let it drive straight as an arrow between two close trees and rope an object that could not pass where the noose had gone.  Such skill, to be sure, comes only after long practice.

“Well, now we have got the noose circling about the vaquero’s head, and the next thing is to let it fly.  There is not much to describe about this part of throwing a riata, important though it may be.  It is only incessant practice that will enable a man to make a certain cast.  The main thing is to swing the rope just long enough—­neither so long as to give it a side-wise motion when you throw it, nor short enough to prevent its getting all the force you require.  Then the riata man must throw at a particular limb or projection.  This thing of tossing blindly at an object and trusting