e accurate weapon."

"No, thank you," spoke up Ware. "I couldn't hit a flock of feather
pillers with your gun. You see, I shoot by _throw_, and I'm used to the
balance of my gun."

Thorne finished making some notes.

"All right, boys," he said, snapping shut his book. "We'll go down to
headquarters next."

IV

On the way down the narrow trail Bob found himself near the two men from
his own camp. He chaffed them good-humouredly over their lack of skill
in the contests, to which they replied in the same spirit.

Arrived at camp, Thorne turned to face his followers, who gathered in a
group to listen.

"Let's have a little riding, boys," said he. "Bring out a horse or two
and some saddles. Each man must saddle his horse, circle that tree down
the road, return, unsaddle and throw up both hands to show he's done."

Bob was amused to see how the aspect of the men changed at this
announcement. The lithe young fellows, who had been looking pretty sober
over the records they had made at shooting, brightened visibly and ran
with some eagerness to fetch out their own horses and saddles. Some of
the others were not so pleased, notably two of the young fellows from
the valley towns. Still others remained stolidly indifferent to a trial
in which they could not hope to compete with the professional riders,
but in which neither would they fail.

The results proved the accuracy of this reasoning. A new set of stars
rose to the ascendant, while the heroes of the upper meadow dropped into
obscurity. Most of the mountain men saddled expeditiously but soberly
their strong and capable mountain horses, rode the required distance,
and unsaddled deftly. It was part of their everyday life to be able to
do such things well. The two town boys, and, to Bob's surprise, one of
his lumberjacks, furnished the comic relief. They frightened the horses
allotted them, to begin with; threw the saddles aboard in a mess which
it was necessary to untangle; finally clambered on awkwardly and rode
precariously amid the yells and laughter of the spectators.

"How you expect to be a ranger, if you can't ride?" shouted some one at
the lumberjack.

"If horses don't plumb _detest_ me, I reckon I can learn!" retorted the
shanty boy, stoutly. "This ain't my game!"

But when young Pollock, whom Bob recognized as Jim's oldest, was called
out, the situation was altered. He appeared leading a beautiful,
half-broken bay, that snorted and planted its fe