tell whether the rider was on or off. Then the horse
galloped to the opposite side of the corral and his unwelcome incumbent
was perceived picking himself sheepishly out of the dust.

"Henry Clark from Table Mountain, on the pinto from Cascada," the next
entry was shortly announced. The Indian in the purple shirt stepped
forward, gorgeous in his borrowed chaps.

"Some buckaroo!" grinned Ted.

The pony, not quite so thin as most of the range stock, blinked startled
eyes, and the fireworks began. The gorgeous one, barely surviving the
first buck, and seeing himself riding for a fall in all his finery, leapt
nimbly to the ground while the pony went on bucking. He landed right side
up--with no damage to the purple shirt. A derisive jeer greeted
this--fiasco.

"He sure wasn't goin' to dust them ice-cream pants," laughed one of the
crowd hanging over the fence. The Indian signified a desire to try again.
After a couple more riders were called, he was given the same mount again.

This time he saved his finery by grabbing hold with both hands.

"Pulling leather only gets two-fifty," adjudged the megaphone man.

"He sure had a good hand hold," gurgled Ted. "Pretty hard on the wrists,
isn't it, Henry?"

"Wait till we get you a medal!" boomed Ace.

Next came a white rider, who won the nick-name "Easy Money" by riding a
mule up with a surcingle, then another Indian,--they were mostly the
youngsters working on local pack-trains,--who began by straddling the
neck of his mount and ended by going over the animal's head, landing flat
on his back. A momentary hush, and the fence lizards began collecting
around the limp form. The Indian's round brown face had turned gray.

"Stand back and give 'm air," megaphoned the starter, fanning him with
his hat. Some one brought water, then the Indian opened his eyes, and
presently signified a desire to get up. He was helped to his feet. "He's
all right," was the final verdict as the little group led off the field.
"Somebody give 'm a cigarette." The Indian leaned against the corral
fence nonchalantly, lighting up, though with fingers that shook the flame
out of several matches.

"Gee!" nudged Ace. "Dad's motioning us, and if he knows I've drawn that
bull, he'll sure----"

"You're nineteen."

"Aw, he's the Gov'ner, just the same. If you had one you'd see. Let's
stick here behind this bunch till my turn comes 'round."

"Sure you'd better try it?" Ted laid a hand on his chum's shoulder