nd recall,
but as I came round and passed the starting-point, the judges attempted
to stop me, and I well knew my chances were over. Uncle Lance promptly
waived all rights to the award, and I was allowed to finish the race,
lowering Earnest's time over twenty seconds. The eighth contestant, so I
learned later, barely came under the time limit.

The vaqueros took charge of the relay mounts, and, reinvesting myself in
my discarded clothing, I mounted my horse to leave the field, when who
should gallop up and extend sympathy and congratulations but Miss Jean
and my old sweetheart. There was no avoiding them, and discourtesy to
the mistress of Las Palomas being out of the question, I greeted Esther
with an affected warmth and cordiality. As I released her hand I could
not help noticing how she had saddened into a serious woman, while the
gentleness in her voice condemned me for my attitude toward her. But
Miss Jean artfully gave us little time for embarrassment, inviting me to
show them the unconcluded programme. From contest to contest, we rode
the field until the sun went down, and the trials ended.

It was my first tournament and nothing escaped my notice. There were
fully one hundred and fifty women and girls, and possibly double that
number of men, old and young, every one mounted and galloping from one
point of the field to another. Blushing maidens and their swains dropped
out of the throng, and from shady vantage points watched the crowd
surge back and forth across the field of action. We were sorry to miss
Enrique's roping; for having snapped his saddle horn with the first
cast, he recovered his rope, fastened it to the fork of his saddletree,
and tied his steer in fifty-four seconds, or within ten of the winner's
record. When he apologized to Miss Jean for his bad luck, hat in hand
and his eyes as big as saucers, one would have supposed he had brought
lasting disgrace on Las Palomas.

We were more fortunate in witnessing Pasquale's riding. For this contest
outlaws and spoilt horses had been collected from every quarter. Riders
drew their mounts by lot, and Pasquale drew a cinnamon-colored coyote
from the ranch of "Uncle Nate" Wilson of Ramirena. Uncle Nate was
feeling in fine fettle, and when he learned that his contribution to
the outlaw horses had been drawn by a Las Palomas man, he hunted up the
ranchero. "I'll bet you a new five-dollar hat that that cinnamon horse
throws your vaquero so high that the birds b