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 The head cow-puncher knew very well that this was a dangerous thing to do for if the fire ever jumped the creek and caught the tall trees on the steep slopes the forest would prove a veritable fire trap, but it was the only chance so they shouted and waved their camp blankets at the cattle until they got them started across Crooked Creek. And none too soon for when the last head had crossed the river the cow-punchers themselves had to ride for their lives to escape the flames.

But the fire did its work very quickly and in two hours from the time it was first discovered it had spent its fury and only a smoldering ember here and there told of how fiercely the flames had burned an hour before. As soon as the earth would permit of the passage of cattle over it the two thousand head on the side of the mountain were driven back over Crooked Creek and headed for Piñon Valley and thence to the upper plateau. It was sundown when the parada of the Crooked Creek ranch had finally been made secure.

A madder set of cow-punchers than Hank Brodie's men could hardly have been found in Wyoming as they came in. Their expletives against Fritz Ganzer and his family were picturesque and wholly outside the domain of print.

Immediately after supper the cow-punchers saddled their broncs and started to interview the German. Hank insisted that they leave their guns behind and

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 he himself carried but one which he had concealed under his vest. They intended to make a thorough job of the Ganzer family this time and run them out of the country.

But the wary little German had foreseen this move and when they arrived at the cabin they found it forsaken. He had driven away his horses and cattle and moved all his furniture and they saw every evidence that he had left the country for good, so the cow-punchers returned to the ranch house without wreaking their vengeance upon the man who had so nearly destroyed the parada of the ranch, but this much had been accomplished, they had apparently got rid of him for the present.

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HE third invasion of the Crooked Creek ranch and the one Larry had expected least of all came like a thunder-bolt out of a clear sky. It happened one afternoon late in September just after the completion of the autumn round-up. Big Bill and Manito had gone away in the morning to look over the cattle in the very northern confines of the ranch close to the timber. There was some evidence that everything was not just as it should be with the herd.

At about five o'clock Manito came galloping back to the ranch house, riderless, and the saddle was splotched with blood. Hank Brodie ran out to catch him as he galloped into the ranch house yard and a minute later he was joined by Pony Perkins.

"My God in Heaven!" exclaimed Pony, wringing his hands and turning as pale as it was possible for him to do under his sun-burned, wind-tanned skin, "my God, Bill told the truth. I couldn't believe it, I couldn't believe it."

"What's this nonsense you are talking!" exclaimed Hank Brodie, sharply, "what do you mean?"

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 "I mean jest this, Hank, a terrible thing has come to us. Bill told me about it a-fore he rode away this morning. Pony, sez he, me and you has been good pals and I want to confide in you, Pony, I want to tell you something that I wouldn't tell anybody else in the world. I have a hunch I am going to get plugged today up in Aspen Draw. Don't laugh at me, Pony, but my father came to me this morning in a dream, you know he was a sky pilot, and he laid his hand on my head jest as he use'n to do when I was a kid. Willie, sez he, you're going to get plugged up in Aspen Draw today. It will be the rustlers that will do it. So make your peace with God.

"At first I thought Bill was joking, you know what a joker he was, but the more he talked the more I see he was in earnest and believed he was going to be plugged.

"Bill, sez I, if you think you are going to get plugged up there in Aspen Draw what makes you go there? Why don't you stay at home?

"Pony, sez he, there ain't no use kicking when the the time is set. The bullet that is going to get you will find you if you are fifty feet under ground. That's what old Bonaparte told one of his soldiers once. There ain't any use kicking against fate.

"I allowed Bill must be mistaken, I didn't see how it could be true, but he told me all that and more. He

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 inferior servants, were stirring, and walked out upon the lawn to try if the freshness of the air and exercise would revive her spirits. A solemn stillness reigned around, and the dewy landscape was yet but imperfectly revealed; but by degrees its grey veil was withdrawn, and the stillness interrupted by the twittering of birds and the carol of the early peasant. Madeline sighed at the contrast she drew between the cheerfulness of the scene and the sadness of her own mind.

"And oh, when (she cried as she saw the gloomy vapours of night flying before the beams of a rising sun), oh, when shall the clouds that involve my prospects be dispersed!"

After walking about some time, she sat down beneath the shelter of the chestnut, where she and her friend had rested the preceding night; and as she looked at the opposite but distant mountains, she thought of Madame Chatteneuf and Olivia, who had


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 said as how he wanted us gents to bury him under the old cottonwood on the hilltop yonder. He said it was cool there in summer and sheltered in winter and there was lots of wild flowers. He said as how he didn't want any sky pilot from Wyanne or any other place shouting over his remains. He jes wanted me to say somethin' with you gents standin' around and then for us to lay him away jest like he had gone to sleep."

"Come, boys," said Hank, "let's saddle up. Pony, you and Larry come with me."

Two minutes later the three galloped out of the yard on their way to Aspen Draw. They found Big Bill just as his father had said, lying at the head of Aspen Draw. He was lying on his face just as he had pitched from Old Manito with a bullet hole in his head and his six gun lay beside him on the greensward and not a chamber was empty. There was evidence that he had come upon the rustlers unawares as they were driving a bunch of cattle into the timber. He had surprised them and they had shot him down like a dog.

The cow-punchers made a stretcher by cutting some fifteen foot poles and stretching a blanket on them. On this improvised hammock they laid Bill and carried him gently back to the ranch house. After he had been laid out in the bunk house, one of their number started for the nearest town to buy flowers. In his pocket he carried at least a month's wages for the entire ranch for

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 every cow-puncher in the Crooked Creek outfit loved Old Bill. To some he was a chum and pal, to others he was a father, and to all he was a friend in times of need.

The following morning before sunup Pony, Long Tom, and Texas Jake started out to do some trailing. They returned about noon greatly excited. They had been successful beyond their fondest hopes. They had taken up the trail of the bunch of cattle that the rustlers had driven off and had followed it for five miles through very rough country, through many draws and canyons, to the headquarters of the rustlers.

That afternoon at about four o'clock the order was given for all the cow-punchers to saddle their horses and to look to their six guns.

"I am sorry, son," said Hank to his nephew, "but I am afraid you will have to come along to hold the horses. We want every man we've got for this enterprise."

"But what is the enterprise, Uncle Hank? What are you going to do?"

"We are going after those men and we are going to get them," returned his uncle.

"What will you do with them when you get them?" inquired Larry doubtfully.

"Well," said Hank, "that's more than I know. It will depend on how well I can control the boys, we

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 may turn them over to the posse or it may turn out to be another necktie party."

"That has always seemed like a relic of barbarism," returned Larry. "I never could understand it. It doesn't seem just right."

"Well, son," explained his uncle, "it is this way. This state is young, only three or four years old, and our judicial systems are not well established. Many of our sheriffs are tenderfoots while all of the rustlers are gunmen and desperate characters. If we don't get them there is a chance they will get off scot free.

"Besides, the vigilance committee was the only judiciary this territory had before we became a state. It stood us in good stead then and it will now. For my part I can't see the difference between this and the judicial way of doing things in your eastern states. For instance, when the sheriff pulls the trigger that drops the murderer into eternity he is no more guilty of the murderer's death than is every citizen who votes for him."

"Well," said Larry, "if you look at it in that way perhaps there isn't so much difference."

It was a silent and determined little company of cow-punchers that rode away to get the men who had got their pal. There was very little talking among them and what there was, was carried on in low tones. As Larry looked from one to the other of his friends he was

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 shocked by the stern look on the face of each. Their lips were set tight. In the eyes of each was a glint like steel. They certainly looked like men who had nerved themselves for a desperate enterprise.

After about two hours and a half of riding, just before sundown, they reached the point where Hank Brodie said they would leave their horses and go on foot. The bridle rein of each horse was attached to the one next him just as cavalry horses are held by one of their members when the rest go into battle. Only this time Larry held ten horses counting Patches.

As Hank Brodie and the little company filed away through the aisles of the forest, Larry looked after them with a strange tugging at his heart. Would they all be there when he next saw them? What would be the outcome of this desperate adventure? What a terrible life this frontier existence was when good citizens had to protect themselves against these rustlers with the might of their .45's. Hank had told Larry that it was a quarter of a mile to the rendezvous of the rustlers and it would take them at least half an hour to reach it. During this half hour Larry looked at his watch at least twenty times. Seconds were like minutes and minutes were like hours and as they dragged slowly by, Larry's nerves became keyed to a terrific pitch. He jumped with each snapping of a twig and the slightest sound set his heart to pounding. He

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 fixed on this morning to commence their journey; and her regret at their departure was augmented by believing that their presence would have been a comfort and relief to the Countess.

Full of the idea that they had already begun to ascend those stupendous precipices, which together they had so often viewed with mingled awe and veneration; she gazed upon them with a melancholy kind of pleasure, as if by doing so she could once more have beheld the travellers.

She remained thus engaged, till Agatha called to her from a window, and informed her the Countess was up. She directly returned to the house, and, going up to the Countess's dressing-room, met her just as she was entering it.

With the most anxious solicitude she enquired how she found herself. "Somewhat better," (the Countess replied). But whether


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 was waiting and waiting and waiting for he knew not what.

Presently it came, a desultory shot from a .45 and then an agonized cry. Then more shots in quick succession like the setting off of a bunch of firecrackers. Larry thought there must have been about thirty shots, then all was still, a strange unearthly silence. Even the trees and the bushes seemed to stand at attention waiting, waiting for they knew not what.

If the half hour until the encounter had been long, the next half hour was still longer. Who would be missing when they came in sight? What had been the outcome of the fight?

Presently he heard the sound of a footstep and his uncle appeared in sight.

"It's all right, son," shouted Hank Brodie, "don't worry, we are all here and not a man hurt."

Then his old friends, Long Tom, Pony Perkins, and Texas Jake and all the rest came filing into view. It was just as Hank Brodie had said, they were all there.

"How in the world did you all escape in such a fusillade as that?" asked Larry as soon as his uncle was in speaking range.

"Simple enough," returned the head cow-puncher. "We didn't have to fire a shot."

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 Dr. Hirth, who has made a special study of the subject of céladon, gives information, already quoted, the gist of which is that, while the céladons of the Ming and earlier eras manufactured at the Lung-chuan factories, had red, or reddish-brown pâte, the Ming céladons of Ching-tê-chên had white pâte. The rule is rough but, on the whole, trustworthy. It must not be too rigidly applied, however. For although a reddish tinge of greater or less intensity is essentially characteristic of the Lung-chuan-yao (including the Ko-yao), and perhaps of the Ju-yao, the Kuan-yao of the Sung dynasty is not necessarily thus distinguished.

During an interval of about thirty years preceding, and as many following, the fall of the Ming dynasty (1644), the keramic art in China lapsed into comparative neglect. But at an early period of the reign of Kang-hsi (1662-1722), during the present, or Tsing dynasty, an energetic revival took place, and fine céladons began once more to appear among the products of the Ching-tê-chên factory. Later on, during the reigns of Yung-ching (1723-1735) and Chien-lung (1736-1795), still greater attention was given to this class of ware. Two celebrated experts raised the keramic art to its highest point of excellence. They were Nien Hsi-yao, called also Nien-kung, who occupied the post of superintendent at the Ching-tê-chên factories under the emperor Yung-ching, and Tang Ying, who was associated with Nien from 1727 and succeeded him in 1736. The wares made at Ching-tê-chên under the direction of these masters are commonly known as Nien-yao and T'ang-yao. Among them many beautiful specimens of céladon are found. Sometimes an attempt was made to


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 "What!" exclaimed Larry in surprise, "you didn't fire a shot. Why, I heard at least thirty."

"Well, son, I am happy to inform you that they were not from our guns. The posse beat us to it by about five minutes. When we arrived on the scene they had gotten the entire rustler band. One was dead, and one was dying, though two will live to die on the gibbet."

The following afternoon six stalwart cow-punchers shouldered the casket which held the remains of their old pal, Bill, and marched up to the great cottonwood on the hilltop nearby. Then they set the casket upon the greensward close to the newly dug grave. No outsiders had been invited for this funeral, for, as Long Tom and Pony said, Bill would rather it would be just a home party without any fuss and feathers.

Finally after a long silence Pony rose and opened the Bible.

"Gents," he said, "I am going to read the twenty-third Psalm, but I want to explain to you cattle men, before I read it that this here David wan't no sech sheep man as we have today. He wan't no low-down miserable sort, but an honest-to-goodness, fair and square shepherd. I guess the cattle business hadn't got to going much in those days. Cattle ain't mentioned much in the Bible.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.' You

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 the imagination of Madeline was affected by what Floretta had said the preceding night, or whether it really was the case, she thought there was no alteration in her countenance to support this assertion; the same look of languor and dejection prevailed; and she involuntarily repeated her enquiry with an earnestness that intimated the doubt she harboured, and hinted a wish of having a physician sent for.

"I thank you for this kind anxiety about me, my dear girl (said the Countess); but I can with truth assure you I am better; and even if I was not, I should never think of sending for a physician; medical skill (continued she in a low voice), could be of little avail in my malady."

"Ah! (thought Madeline) this is indeed a confirmation of all that Floretta told me; she gives me to understand by those words, that her malady is upon her mind;—would to heaven I could alleviate it!"


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 all know how careful we be in the springtime of the little new calves and colts, how we watch them and tend them and if they are sick we drive them to a sheltered spot and look after them. Think what it would be, gents, to have the Lord for our shepherd.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.' You folks all know how green the grass is on the upper mesa in June and you all remember bow peaceful and clear the large pools are in Crooked Creek. They are so transparent you can see the clouds in the heavens above reflected in their depths jest like they was a looking-glass. It is jest that sort of grass, gents, and jest sech pools of water as them we will set beside on the heavenly range, 'cept it will be the water of the stream of life. Don't you see, gents, how all that peaceful scene would restore your soul?

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.' We all know on this earthly way how easy it is to get in the paths of sin and what good traveling it is on the broad and smooth highway to perdition. But up there the Lord hisself is goin' to keep our feet in the paths of righteousness, not because we are good ourselves, because we are all miserable sinners, but because He is good.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art

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 with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.' Don't you remember, gents, away up in the big canyon where the cliffs are three hundred feet high and straight as a string, how dark it is and skeery? The sun shines down there so little that there won't nothing grow, but if you only knew the Lord was there, don't you see how that would change things and a chap would forget all about being lonesome? Well, that is the way with the Lord when we go down in the valley of the shadder. He is right there with us a-looking out for us so we can't fear no evil because God is with us. If we go to slip He reaches out his rod and staff and holds us up.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.' We all know how the Lord is always preparing a table before us and how He makes the bunch grass and the blue joint and pine grass all grow for the cattle and how He gives us little calves and colts in the spring and in the autumn, beef, and how when we blows in at the ranch house after a long day's work He anoints our heads with the oil of gladness and He fills our cup of joy so full that if we ain't careful we spill it.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.' Can't you see how on the heavenly

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 range everything is beautiful with goodness and mercy about us all the time and the Lord there a-looking on, what a glorious thing it will be for us to dwell in his great corral forever?"

Then to the accompaniment of a cabinet organ that had been moved up under the old cottonwood and which was played by Mrs. Morgan, wife of the manager, they sang that beautiful hymn, "Nearer my God to Thee." The hymn that has comforted wounded soldiers on the battle fields and dying men in hospital tents as well as the rich in their palatial chambers, a hymn which applies equally to rich and poor.

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 As the last beautiful line died away the cow-punchers noticed a heavy step on the greensward close at hand, and looking up, to their unspeakable amazement they beheld old Manito, Big Bill's faithful horse. How he had got out of the corral and what strange instinct had drawn him to the big cottonwood were equally inexplicable. But there he stood close to his master's casket looking down with a wistful gaze at the face of his master under the glass.

As Pony glanced over at the faithful horse, a great lump filled his throat.

"For heaven's sake, somebody take him away," choked Pony, "I can't preach with him standing there."

There was a long silence but no one started to do Pony's bidding. Finally Long Tom spoke up and everyone echoed in his heart the cow-puncher's sentiments.

"Pony," he said, "I guess he has the best right of anybody here. You jest draw in your belt and take a grip on yourself and go ahead."

So with a great effort Pony proceeded with the services, bowing his head in prayer.

"Dear Heavenly Father," he began, "we all knows that we ain't fit to call You Father, sech sinners as we be, but somehow we expect you to make allowances for all our shortcomings and to call us Your sons.

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 imitate old ware of the same type by artificially colouring the lower rim of the pâte. But in the majority of cases the potters frankly depended on the resources of their own skill and were fully justified by the result. For these Nien-yao and T'ang-yao céladons undoubtedly rank high among wares of the Middle Kingdom. They differ from their prototypes primarily in the nature of their pâte, which is true porcelain, fine, white, less dense and on the whole better manipulated than the Lung-chuan-yao biscuit. Their glaze, too, is thinner and less lustrous, lacking the wonderful depth and solid softness of the early céladons. In respect of colour, the comparison is difficult. The emerald tint of precious jade is seldom found, or the delicately fresh colour of young onion sprouts, or the indescribable nuance of bluish green that constituted connoisseurs' delight in preceding centuries. But, on the other hand, there is a wonderful gradation of tints from green so pale as to be almost grey to grass colour and azure. These restful and æsthetic monochromes deserve even more notice than they have received. In many of them the potter, not relying wholly on beauty of colour, heightened the decorative effect by adding elaborate arabesques and scroll patterns, incised or in relief; which designs, being executed with admirable skill, invest the Nien-yao and T'ang-yao céladons with great attractions for Western collectors, especially since the shapes are often fine and the dimensions of the pieces noble. Notably charming is a variety in which the decoration is made to appear like a tracery of white lace lying under the delicate green glaze. Good examples of these comparatively modern céladons are to be found in European and American collections,


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 We all loved old Bill and want to say jest a few words for him. We are all hoping and praying, Lord that You won't be too hard on Bill for You know that we are all miserable sinners. There ain't no hiding our hearts from. Thee for any time You want, You can jest take off the civer of our lives and peek inside. But Bill was a good sort and we loved him and his heart was as big as a teakettle.

"He might be kind of rough sometimes because he was so big and strong, especially if he thought a fellow was doing him, but with children he was as gentle as a woman and he always reverenced women.

"He was so generous if a fellow was down on his luck he would stick his big hand down in his pocket and give him his last dollar. We all loved him, Lord, and we are hoping and praying that You got some peaceful place for him on the heavenly range where he'll have a good horse to ride and the easy steers to rope."

Then the little cabinet organ struck up the familiar cow-puncher hymn, Rounded Up In Glory, and the Crooked Creek cow-punchers sang it just as Larry had heard them that first night in the ranch house so many months before:

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Then very reverently they lowered the casket covered with roses bought with the hard-earned money of Bill's chums into its last resting place. As it slowly sank from sight old Manito reached down his nose and nickered softly, not the eager whinney with which he had always greeted his master, but a wistful, pleading sound as though he were calling to him to come back.

Then they filled in the grave and covered it over

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 as well as they could with the greensward and laid a great pile of roses upon it, the cow-punchers' last tribute to their comrade.

As they started back to the ranch house some one suggested that they had better put Manito back in the corral but Hank Brodie said, "Let him alone. Perhaps he had rather stay up here."

The last thing Hank did before he retired that night was to go outside to look for Manito. To his surprise he saw the faithful horse still standing under the broad-spreading cottonwood.

The following day he was still near the tree. No one saw him eat grass or go to the creek for water, instead he seemed to be looking for somebody or listening for something. The third day he was still keeping his vigil and the fourth and the fifth. The evening of the sixth day as the cow-punchers lounged before the ranch house talking of Old Bill, Hank Brodie said, "I think I will take the Winchester and walk up to the old cottonwood. This sight of Manito watching and waiting for his master is too much for me."

"It is a good idea," said Pony; "it is bad enough to see a human breaking his heart for those he loves, but to see a horse is still worse."

"Me, too," put in Long Tom, "go ahead, Hank."

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 the big cottonwood with his Winchester, Manito was standing about fifty yards from the tree and as Hank approached he raised his head to look at him. Then Hank raised the rifle and the watching cow-punchers listened for the short sharp report which they knew was coming, but it did not come.

As soon as the rifle butt touched Hank's shoulder old Manito threw up his head and broke into a wild gallop. He went straight as an arrow for the cottonwood. As he neared it all expected he would veer to one side, but instead he lowered his head and struck the butt of the tree fairly in the middle.

Hank Brodie ran to the spot where the faithful horse lay upon his master's grave. He raised the rifle but it was not needed. He let the butt fall to the ground and stood holding the barrel while he looked down at the horse.

Pony, Long Tom, and Larry and the rest of the cow-punchers lost no time in reaching the tree where Hank stood above the fallen horse.

"Well, gents," he said, "I didn't have to shoot. He broke his neck when he struck the tree. Killed him as though he had been struck by a stroke of lightning."

"Well, gents," put in Long Tom, "it is a comfort to know he has gone after Bill, If Bill needs a hoss on this here heavenly range Pony was telling us about, old Manito will be that hoss."

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N the winter of the year 1897 the leading men of the little cattle city of Wyanne dreamed a dream and beheld a vision and in this dream they saw a great three days pageant or festival which should tell in detail the story of ranch life in the great west, especially the story of cattle raising. It must not be imagined, however, that they dreamed this dream one week and staged this great show the next or even the next month. For it took weeks and months of planning and much arduous labor to perfect the first American rodeo.

As soon as this scheme had been definitely outlined a large staff of secretaries were set to work corresponding with the leading cattle raisers both east and west of the Rocky Mountains. Horsemen from far and near were finally interested while many of the richest cattle raisers both east and west of the Rockies entered into the project with enthusiasm. There was no limit to the distance from which visitors would be invited and invitations were sent out as far west as the Pacific coast, south to the Rio Grande and north ward to the Canadian border.

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 They sat down to breakfast; the table was laid near an open window, from whence they inhaled the sweetness of the morning air, and beheld the dewy landscape gradually brightening to their view,—beheld along the forest glades the wild deer trip, and often turning, gaze at early passenger: grey smoke arose in spiral columns from cottages scattered about its extremity, painting the rural scene with cheerful signs of inhabitation: and soon the industrious woodman was beheld commencing his toil, and the careful shepherd driving his bleating flock along the grassy paths to taste the verdure of the morn, while on every side

"Oh, how lovely is this scene! (said the Countess), this is Nature's hour for offering up her incense to the Supreme; and cold and unamiable indeed must be that heart which is not warmed to devotion by it. What


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 The great show was finally set for the first week in August. This was a quiet time on the ranches, the hay on the home ranches had all been cut and stacked, and there is a little breathing spell before the autumn round-up in September. So the time was opportune for this great western drama of the cattle men.

The first obstacle that the good people of Wyanne had to overcome was the fact that they had no arena large enough for such an event. But eons before the white men ever came to this continent nature had prepared just the place for the great show. It was about a mile from the center of the city and was a natural amphitheater which was christened the oval. There was a natural intervale about the size of a polo ground, perhaps three hundred yards by two hundred. This was surrounded by steep bluffs on three sides. The first thing that the Wyanne people did was to build a half mile race track skirting the foot of the bluffs. This was then fenced inside and out by a fivefoot board fence. The enclosure inside the inner fence was then levelled until it was as smooth as a billiard table. This arena contained between: twenty-five or thirty acres.

Bleachers were then set up on the buffs on three sides of the track. The first seats were about ten feet above the track while those perched on the highest

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 seat could view this beautiful arena from an elevation of nearly a hundred feet. Seats for twenty thousand people were made while as many more could be accommodated on the grass.

For several weeks before the great event small companies of people both in Wyanne and in the surrounding towns and cities were very busy. They were rehearsing for their parts, practising their stunts, and also making floats for the great parade which was to inaugurate the important day.

The first day of the rodeo was ushered in by as beautiful weather as could be wished for. The air was clear and not too hot, the mountains to the west of Wyanne were looking beautiful in their summer verdure.

The great parade formed on the main street of Wyanne with its many sections resting upon the side streets. Finally at one o'clock the herald and the leading band started and the machinery which was to set in motion the first American rodeo had begun to move. Immediately following the band were five hundred mounted cow-punchers upon some of the best horses that the west could produce, cow-punchers from Wyoming, South Dakota, Oregon, California, New Mexico and Arizona. They were gay in their cow-puncher regalia with the broad Stetsons, the bright kerchiefs, the ornate chaps, and the tall, shiny riding

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 boots. The chains in the bits of their horses jingled merrily as they marched along.

They were closely followed by two hundred cow girls many of whom were society girls from the best families in the west, girls who had taken prizes at riding shows and races and whose greatest hobby in the world was horses. Some of these girls, however, were typical cow girls, born and brought up on the ranch, who had ridden horses ever since they were large enough to climb to a horse's back. A few of them were famous riders who had ridden some of the worst outlaws in the west.

The cow girls were followed by three hundred Indians gay in their war paint, war bonnets and bright blankets. These Indians were Sioux from the local reservation, Black Feet from the hills of Montana, Navahos from Arizona, and New Mexico, all riding beautiful horses with the ornate Mexican saddles. While still others were Apaches from a distant reservation, but all were as gay in color as the traditional red man.

These horsemen were followed by nearly fifty floats representing life in the great west. First there was the log cabin of the settler, a rude affair which merely sheltered him from the wind and the rain. There was the camp of the Indian, his teepee on the edge of the forest.

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 These were followed by the old stage coach and the ox-cart, also a canoe, all upon wheels and looking as natural as life. The plow and the reaper were also shown. Then came a dozen floats representing the industries of the state, the mining camp, the oil well, the sheep ranch and many others. Then the fraternities of Wyanne and other local towns took their turn upon the floats. After these came several marching columns representing different industries and fraternities of the city of Wyanne and other towns of the cattle land. And all this vast parade which extended for nearly two miles was interspersed with a dozen bands which blared their triumphal music as the procession moved on. It was just two o'clock when the end of the procession passed the reviewing stand at the oval. Then the cowboys and the cow girls put their horses which were to take part in the day's sport in the paddock which had been provided for them and the great crowd which had both preceded and followed the procession finally seated itself in the half circle of seats which surrounded the track on three sides.

Four bands were stationed at different points around the track to amuse the crowd and to keep it good-natured until the first event should occur. On three sides of the track, perched high in great trees which had been spared for this special purpose, were three

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 men. Each was equipped with a megaphone, a pair of strong lungs and a stentorian voice. Previous to each event these three men lifted their megaphones and sent the announcements ringing across the intervale to the twenty-five thousand spectators seated on the bluffs.

The first event, in honor to the ladies, was the cow girls' mile and a half relay race. Each cow girl was allowed three horses, usually her own string, and two helpers. It was a half mile track and when a contestant came sweeping around to the finish of the first half mile on her madly racing pony, she had to bring him to a dead stop, changing the saddle and bridle to another horse which her first helper was holding and then when everything was in readiness, they were off again. The lightning cinch was most valuable in this race, merely a sharp pull and a twist of the wrist and the trick was done. It was incredible how quick these expert horse-women could change the saddles and bridles on their steeds. When they came around the second time there was still another pony and another lightning change and they were off for the final lap. If a buckle stuck or there was any trouble in making the change the race was lost. It was quite as much a race of dexterity of change as it was a race of good horses.

The second event was even more spectacular and thrilling than the first for it was nothing more or

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 real enjoyment do the children of indolence and dissipation forego by losing, in the bed of sloth, those moments when every blooming pleasure waits without: how cheering even to the soul of sadness itself, is the matin of the birds! how reviving to sickness or to languor this pure breeze, which, as it sweeps over tall trees of the forest, bends their leafy heads, as if in sign of grateful homage to the great Creator."

"It is an hour which I particularly love indeed (cried Madeline), one in which some of my most delightful rambles have been taken; with my father I have often brushed the dews away, and on the side of some steep and romantic mountain, caught the first beams of the sun, and watched the vapour of the valley retiring before them."

"Our friends (continued Madeline, after the pause of a few minutes), have ere this, I dare say, commenced their journey; by this time they have probably got a considerable way, and at this very moment perhaps may be sitting down to breakfast in the


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 less than a race between four old-fashioned stage coaches. The coaches were furnished by the management. They were standing at the scratch, while the six horses which were used on each were in the paddock near at hand. Each driver was allowed as many helpers as he cared to employ. At the sound of the gong there was a great scrambling in the paddock for the horses. They came forth almost at a gallop and in an incredibly short time they were harnessed to the coach and the driver was perched upon his high seat, the reins in his left hand and the long snake-like whip in his right. Then the whip cracked and the six excited horses sprang into the collars and they were off. The coaches swayed and the axles snapped as they got up speed. The gait of the horses was a head-long gallop and each horse was trying to outdo the rest of the team. This was a race which required the greatest skill by the driver and the keenest judgment in calculating the turns as there was much jockeying for positions. The race was for two miles so the old stage coaches rattled four times around the track while the crowd cheered as their favorite drew to the front.

The excitement while the race lasted was intense, nearly every one in the grand stand was standing on his feet and shouting, when the leading coach finally thundered down the home stretch and claimed the

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 prize money, which was enough to buy six horses and a brand new coach.

Thinking that the crowd had had excitement enough for the present, the next feature was more sober. It was the great mounted cavalcade of cowboys and cow girls. The five hundred cowboys and the two hundred cow girls who had come out in the parade half an hour before again mounted their steeds and rode slowly around the track. As they passed the judges' stand they were carefully inspected and the most typical cowboy and cow girl each received a handsome purse of gold.

The fourth event was also historic for it was nothing more or less than a relay pony express race, a race intended to show the efficiency of the pony express and what it had meant to the west as a means of communication.

Each contestant was allowed two horses and two assistants. The distance for the race was one mile, the first horse was to run the first quarter and the third quarter, the second horse the second and the fourth.

When a madly racing express pony reached the end of the first quarter his rider had to dismount, then put the saddle and bridle on the new horse who was standing nearby and also to change his mail bags. When everything was in readiness he was off again.

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 At the end of the second quarter he found his first pony waiting for him and once more the saddle and bridle and the mail bags had to be shifted. At the end of the third quarter the second pony was again waiting and the shift was again made. So it will be seen that this race was also a race of dexterity in shifting the trappings of the horses as well as a race testing the speed of the ponies. A slip with the bridle or saddle, or the mail sacks and the race was lost.

The cow girl bucking contest was also a spectacular event and awaited with eager interest because of the fact that the contestants were women. The horses that they rode were not the outlaws that the men rode in their contest, instead they were what are called show buckers, horses that had been trained and encouraged to buck, horses that enjoyed bucking and took it as a sort of game. They never tried to kill their riders, but they did try to dismount them and these cow girls stuck to their saddles like leeches. Crowhopping, sunfishing, straight bucking, and swapping ends were nothing to them, even when a horse stood on his hind legs they did not mind, provided he did not try the back throw. These maneuvers were so tremendous that the average horse-women gasped with fear just to watch them and they breathed a sigh of relief when the contest was over.

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 The pony race for the Indians was in lighter vein and intended partly for fun. The Indians rode without saddles guiding their horses merely with halters, and clad only in their war bonnets and breech cloths. The ponies that they rode were of all sorts and sizes and the race always created much amusement although the Indians rode with great ease and skill.

The steer roping contest was eagerly watched by the thousands of cow-punchers and cattle men. This event was staged on the arena inside the track. The steer was driven in through a gateway in the board fence and allowed a thirty foot start of the cow-puncher who was mounted on his favorite pony. The steer was a dogie, the long horn Texas variety, as wild as an antelope. As soon as the cow-puncher came within roping distance, his lariat shot out. If it fell true it would catch the steer over the horns. At a sign from his rider the cow-pony stiffened his legs like pile drivers and braced to meet the shock of a thousand pounds of madly galloping steer. As the lariat came taut the steer usually reared into the air three or four feet and, if the rope or cinch didn't break, he landed heavily upon his side. Then the clever cow-pony held the rope taut while his master jumped to the ground and with two or three passes of a rope hog-tied the steer. All this had to be done

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 inside two minutes and the quickest time took first money.

Bull-dogging steers was a kindred event and that was also staged on the glass plot. As in the case of roping, the steer was driven in and allowed a thirty foot start. The cow-puncher mounted upon his favorite pony went after the steer like the wind and at just the right moment sprang from the saddle and threw his right arm over the neck of the madly galloping steer. Then with each hand he seized a horn and with a sharp pull of his left hand brought the steer's head around and threw him heavily upon his right—side. He had to be thrown with all four legs stretched out and with his head laid down flat on the ground. The cow-puncher had to hold him with one hand while he waved his other hand to the judges.

The cowboys' bucking contest was one of the great events of the rodeo. For this occasion the country for hundred of miles around had been scoured for outlaw horses. Some of them even rated as killers. The conditions were very hard, a cow-puncher was allowed an assistant to help saddle the horse. He was not allowed a bridle but had to guide the horse with a halter. He had to ride sitting erect, he couldn't pull leather, that is catch hold of the saddle to save himself from a bad fall and each time the horse bucked he had to wave his hat to the audience.

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 cottage of some mountaineer, attended by him and his family with assiduous hospitality; or else beneath the shadow of some cliff, o'er which the light chamois bound, and tall pines cast a solemn shade. Oh, how delightful must such a situation be!—how delightful, how elevating to the mind to be surrounded by the noblest works of nature,—by scenes which bring the heroes of other days to view!—how pleasing to listen to the soft melody of shepherds' pipes, to the bleating of his numerous flocks, intermingled perhaps with the lulling sound of waterfalls, and the humming of bees, intent on their delicious toil!"

"You speak like a poet, Madeline," said the Countess, smiling.

Madeline blushed at this observation, and wondered, when it was made, that she could have given such latitude to her imagination.


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it was a very spectacular performance and one which required supreme horsemanship.

For the first and second days of the rodeo in each contest the winning horse was held and passed up to

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 the finals for the third day and the rest were eliminated from the contest. So those who survived for this supreme effort were in what was called the world's championship class.

The third day of the Wyoming rodeo dawned as auspicious as the other two had and by half past twelve every seat in the vast arena had been taken and ten thousand were sitting on the grass. The contests for that day were many and the sports were to begin at one o'clock. We will pass over most of the events and come at once to the cowboy's bucking contest. For this occasion an outlaw horse with the fearful reputation as a killer had been reserved. He was a stallion called Big Thunder.

The first cow-puncher who undertook to ride him lasted about ten seconds. After several high bucks and the sunfishing maneuver, and then a combination of bucking and sunfishing which was all his own, Big Thunder sent his rider sprawling in the dust and he was out of the contest.

The second cowboy fared no better for after three high straight-away bucks of terrific proportions blood spurted from the man's nostrils and he clung to the saddle and so was disqualified.

The third man lasted through all the preliminary bucking and sunfishing, but when Big Thunder at-

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 tempted the back throw he was obliged to drop from the saddle to the ground to save his life.

The fourth man lasted for twenty seconds and then dropped the halter rope and the black fury bolted for the board fence that skirted the track. He went over it like a deer and started for the distant paddock. The cow-punchers were barely able to stop him and because he had lost control of the horse by dropping the rope he was disqualified.

Because of the fact that Big Thunder had spilled four of the best cow-punchers east of the Rockies there was only one more left and this was a lank Californian who fared no better than his predecessors. After a series of maneuvers which combined everything that the black fury had done to the other four contestants the Californian was dismounted and Big Thunder was still unridable.

At this stage in the performance the announcers from the crow-nests on the three sides of the track gave out an announcement calling for a volunteer to ride the black fury.

"What, gentlemen," cried the announcers, "will you let this horse beat you? Is there no one in all this vast audience who dares to ride Big Thunder?"

For a moment no one seemed forthcoming, then a tall, slim young man sprang to his feet and cried, "I will ride him, gentlemen, I will tide Big Thunder."

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 At the sound of his nephew's voice, Hank Brodie sprang to his feet. "Gentlemen," he called, "I forbid it. He is a minor and I am his guardian. He is booked for the great two-mile race which follows this contest and I forbid him to ride Big Thunder."

At this point two strong hands reached up and pulled Hank Brodie down. His two friends, Pony Perkins and Long Tom, had taken him in charge.

"Don't spoil the boy's fun," pleaded Long Tom, "I bet you he can ride him. He is a wonderful rider and he has a great way with horses."

"I will bet on him, too," put in Pony. "I will bet the Jack Rabbit he can ride the black devil."

"What is your decision, Mr. Brodie, will he ride?" cried one of the judges and Hank nodded his head.

Whether Big Thunder had worked off a lot of his steam and pure cussedness was not known but it was certain that Larry fared much better than had any of the others. He mounted with a quick spring and caught the halter rope with a strong sure hand. The black fury executed his three long high jumps which had put the second contestant out of business, but at each jump Larry raised slightly in the saddle and took a part of the blow on the stirrups and so saved himself. Sunfishing and swapping ends did not discomfort him, but Hank Brodie felt his heart in his throat when the

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 Fatigued by talking, the Countess lay down upon a sofa after breakfast. This debility, in a mind so nervous and a frame so active as hers had hitherto been, gave the most painful apprehensions to Madeline; and, under a trifling pretext, she left the room in order to communicate them to Agatha, and enquire from her whether she did not deem some advise requisite for her lady.

Agatha shook her head mournfully on hearing them; but relative to her enquiry, answered in the negative, saying that rest and quiet were all that was necessary for the Countess, "if those don't do her good (said she), nothing can."

"Alas! (cried Madeline, as she turned from her), 'tis too true! 'tis sorrow that undermines her health, and medicine could not reach her malady. Oh! what, what is this sorrow which so dreadfully affects her,—which is so carefully concealed that even her most intimate friends know it not, for such I know Madame Chatteneuf and her daugh-


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 black fury reared upon his hind legs for the back throw.

"By God, he is going over!" exclaimed the head cow-puncher of the Crooked Creek ranch, "the boy will be killed."

But the black stallion did not lose his balance, instead he cavorted about upon his hind legs for a few seconds and then came down with a vicious slap of his fore feet upon the ground. Then the deviltry seemed to go out of him and instead of going through the fence as the crowd expected he went straight around the race track at a terrific gallop, just the thing Larry wanted him to do. The second time he came around Larry was able to pull him down before the judges' stand and make him stand quietly, entirely subdued for the first time during the contest.

As Larry waved his hat to the judges, the thirty thousand people in the amphitheater rose to their feet as of one accord and gave vent to their enthusiasm in a mighty chorus of cheers, cheers that even drowned the utmost efforts of the four bands which sought to swell the bedlam. It was a great triumph for the young man but sweetest of all his praise was that from Long Tom and Pony when they came down from their seats and shook him warmly by the hand.

"We knowed you could do it," said Long Tom. "We

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 was betting on you. It was us that made your Uncle Henry let you ride."

"That first night when you came to the ranch," said Pony, "you said as how your riding master reckoned you could ride any kind of horse that lived. We cow-punchers sort of snickered in our sleeves that night, but today the joke is on us and we all have to admit you can do it."

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ROBABLY the most thrilling event for the entire three days was the great free-for-all two-mile running race which was next staged. Every one had been talking about it since the first day of the rodeo and, if the truth is told, probably many bets had been placed. The race was supposed to bring together some of the finest running horses to be found anywhere west of the Mississippi River, between the Rio Grande and the Canadian line. When the seven starters finally lined up under the wire beside the judges' stand they represented all types of running horses. To the astonishment of all, Pony Perkins on his mouse-colored Jack Rabbit was there. Pony had won a half mile race the day before with the Jack Rabbit and this success had gone to his head. Against the better judgment of Hank Brodie and Long Tom and the rest of the Crooked Creek cow-punchers he had entered the little horse for this long hard race, His friends had expostulated with him in vain and there he was at the pole.

"Well," said Long Tom to Hank Brodie as Pony had hurried away to the paddock fifteen minutes be-

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 fore, "he is a sensible chap about most everything in this world but he goes fairly nutty about that little hoss of his. Why, the Jack Rabbit may last for half a mile, but after that he won't even be a spectator."

Next to the Jack Rabbit stood our old friend Patches called for this race, Prince Patches. He was ridden by his beloved master, Larry Winton. The two horses contrasted strangely. The Jack Rabbit was the typical mouse-colored mustang with large ears, an ewe neck, thin mane and tail, and rather insignificant to look at. But for a short dash he was really a very fast horse. Patches, on the other hand, although he was part mustang, looked every inch of him the thoroughbred. He was a bright bay with three cream-colored spots on one side and four on the other. His ears were small, his head was clean-cut, his eyes were full of fire and his nose was as soft as velvet, his crest was beautifully arched, his mane and tail were heavy and his shoulders and flanks were muscular and powerful. His legs were clean-cut and he stood well upon his toes like a thoroughbred.

Next to him stood a black stallion called Arizona Knight. He was from the great stock farm near Tucson, a horse of Mexican breeding and probably of Moorish origin. He was said to be the fastest horse in the southwest.

Next to him stood Knocka-knees, a milk-white mus-

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 tang from the great Sioux reservation. He was ridden by an Indian boy and said to be the fastest horse owned by the Sioux nation. He had some of the mustang characteristics although he showed breeding as well.

Next to the white favorite of the Sioux came King California, called King Cal, a large gray running horse from the great stock farm at Palo Alto. He was tall and rangy with little excess fat and he looked like a great runner. Next to him was the Antelope, a tall roan, the pride of the Black Feet Indians. He also was ridden by an Indian boy. The last in line was Rainbow, a splendid chestnut gelding of English origin perhaps descended from a bard, from a horse ranch in southeastern Montana. Rainbow, King Cal and Arizona Knight had all taken prizes in running races and were rated as three of the best horses in the west.

Larry had received hasty instructions from his uncle before taking his place in the race.

"Now remember, boy," Uncle Henry had said, "that this two-mile race is a regular marathon for horses, A half-mile horse like the Jack Rabbit is of no earthly use. Even a good mile and one-eighth running horse couldn't stand the racket. This race would kill some of the best mile and one-quarter running horses. It is the last long mile that counts. Don't forget that, but save your horse during the first mile. You just try to keep him fresh. Let the rest of them spurt and you trail.

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 Remember it is the last mile that counts, even then do not shove him for all he is worth until the last quarter. It is the finish that tells. Good luck, boy, we are all betting on you."

As everybody had expected at the crack of the pistol the Jack Rabbit sprung into the lead. Pony saw to that, even if he could not be in at the end of the race he was going to have some glory for his little horse so he didn't spare the small mustang, but put him at once to his best pace. The Indian boy on Knocka-knees also had this intention and he and Pony had a lively race up to the half, but Pony and the Jack Rabbit led at the half by a hundred feet. They were closely followed by the Antelope who could better afford an early spurt than they could for he had wind like a moose. The rest of the horses were contented to trail on behind these racers who had set out to cover the first half mile in record-breaking time.

At the half as everyone had expected the Jack Rabbit began to show signs of slackening. Knocka-knees and the Antelope passed him and by the three-quarters he was at the tail end of the procession nearly a hundred feet behind.

At the three-quarters Knocka-knees and the Antelope staged a brilliant run to the finish of the first mile and they came in under the wire fifty yards ahead of the rest of the horses. Larry did not mind that he and

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 Patches were at the tail end of this procession for he was remembering what his uncle had said and was saying his horse.

As Patches passed under the wire at the end of the first mile, however, a new spirit seemed to animate him. For there was born in his heart and brain a new idea. It was not his own but was an inheritance; it came to him through generations of racing ancestors. It was the heritage of his great-grandfather who had broken the world's record at Churchill Downs, and it even ante-dated that for it was the soul of his Arabian forbears, horses fleet as the wind, who had carried Arabian shieks over the desert in record-breaking time. It was this heritage that came surging into Patches' veins causing his heart beat to quicken and his muscles and sinews to receive new life. In this race, at the very second that he passed under the wires at the end of the first mile, Prince Patches, the American race horse was born.

With the beginning of the second mile Larry began feeling out his horse by shoving him forward. His uncle had shouted to him as he Passed the grand stand. He had not made out what he said amid the cheers of the crowd but he knew it was an admonishment to settle down to business and to begin the long hard fight ahead.

At the end of the eighth Larry found himself seem-

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 ingly in a pocket behind Knocka-knees and the Antelope with the three other horses perhaps fifty feet ahead. He tried first the pole and then the outside, but each time he moved over to pass, the horse ahead of him moved to check his progress. Three times they did this and then the game was apparent to Larry. These two horses were trying to put him out of the race. At the thought great indignation welled up in the boy's heart and he eagerly watched for an opportunity to outwit the strategy. Presently it came, Knocka-knees surged over a yard or so away from the Antelope and at that instant Larry let the quirt fall heavily on Patches' side and called to him in a ringing voice. No one of the thirty thousand excited spectators, or even the judges in the grand stand, ever knew just how it was done. Some said Patches went through the opening like an express train, others said he went like a bullet and you could not see him at all. But when he had passed, the beautiful Knocka-knees limped into the ditch with a dislocated stifle and his part in the race was done. The Antelope, too, had been so much upset by the jar that Patches had given him as he passed that he lost his stride and when he finally regained it he was two lengths behind, but he was a great running horse and the Indian boy who rode him was a cunning driver and at the end of an eighth of a mile he had drawn up abreast of Patches. They held these relative positions,

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 Rainbow, King Cal and Arizona Knight in the lead and Patches and the Antelope fifty feet behind them, up to the three-eighths mark. Even at the half the position was relatively the same, only Patches and the Antelope had moved up to within twenty-five feet of the other horses. Then it was that Larry stecled his will and brought his quirt into play. They were now going like the wind. The air cut Larry's face like a March breeze. The continual roll of hoof beats was in his ears. The track ahead of him was a brown blur and the mighty audience on his right was a backward rushing mass.

At the five-cighths mark the five horses were running neck and neck, but the Antelope had clearly been pushed to his limit and was Wavering and before the three-quarters was reached he began to fall behind. Patches on the other hand began to show his mettle, Foot by foot, yard by yard, he crept up on the other three horses until at the three-quarters the four matchless racers were running neck to neck. Then King Cal's rider lashed him mercilessly with the quirt and by sheer force drove him two lengths ahead until half of the next eighth had been covered. Then he collapsed and fell behind and Patches moved up to take his Next Rainbow was shoved to the end of his endurance and he, too, forged ahead for a length, but at the seven-eighths fell behind and left the race for Patches a Arizona Knight.

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 The finishing line was just forty rods away. Up to this point Larry had used his quirt the least of any of the drivers and even now he felt that he could do more with Patches through love than he could with the whip. So he leaned over and patted him on the neck and talked to him. "Patches," he said, "Go, go, your master wants you to go. Heigh, heigh, go." If Patches had responded magnificently beneath the quirt, beneath the caress of his master's voice he became dynamic. Larry felt the great muscles in his shoulders and hips—intensify. He felt the mighty effort that this splendid racing machine was making just as plainly as though he had been the horse himself, and in fact horse and rider were one and that is why Patches knew what his master wanted. Seeing that his voice availed him more than the quirt he dropped the whip by his side and continued to talk to Patches, "Go, heigh, go." Foot by foot Patches drew ahead of his adversaries. At first it was barely perceptible, just a nose length, then half a neck, then a full neck, and at the end of the two miles he thundered under the wire half a length ahead of the black racing horse from Arizona and the race was won. As Larry brought his beloved steed to a standstill two hundred feet beyond the judges' stand he appreciated what a terrible strain the race had been. In spite of all he could do his senses reeled and he clung to the horn of his saddle while the mighty cheering of

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 the crowd about him became indistinct and incoherent. But this only lasted for a second or two, then his fine vitality asserted itself and he pulled himself together. Yes, it was true, this mighty crowd of thirty thousand men and women were shouting it. Prince Patches had won, and this made him the greatest running horse west of the Mississippi River and one of the greatest in the entire world.

Then as a sort of grand finale to the great race which had seemingly stretched the nerves of the excited crowd to the breaking point, there was enacted as a sort of anti-climax a feature known as the wild horse race.

Fifteen or twenty wild horses from the plains had been secured for this event. So far as was known these horses had never had a bridle or saddle upon them. They were like other wild animals, keenly suspicious of man and ready to fight for their freedom and their lives to the last ounce of their strength. One by one these wild horses were delivered to the contesting cow-punchers on the arena inside the inner fence. One of the cow-punchers was mounted upon his favorite pony with rope in readiness and was allowed several helpers. His stunt was to rope and throw the wild horse and then to blindfold, saddle and bridle him and ride him once around the track. It was a sort of impromptu wild horse breaking done under the watch. If a cow-puncher failed to subdue his steed in a certain number

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 of minutes he was disqualified and some one else took his place.

Then for the next hour and a half the audience beheld the most hair-raising incidents that they had yet seen during the rodeo. There were broncs upon four' legs and broncs upon two legs, cow-punchers in the saddle and cow-punchers flying through the air or sprawling in the dirt. Some of the latter limped away with sprained ankles or nursed sprained wrists while one poor fellow had to be carried away on a stretcher and it was subsequently learned that he had ridden his last race.

These practically wild horses squealed, snorted, and bucked, kicked, and bit, and the cow-puncher had to act like lightning, always keeping his head. Occasionally a woman shrieked or covered her eyes or even fainted, men who were enured to such scenes gasped in fear and astonishment. Several horses crashed through the inner fence and before the contest was over much of this fence was in kindling wood. One of the frantic broncs finally leaped the outside fence and before the audience was aware of what was happening was in among the spectators, but men had been placed in readiness for such an event and the frantic horse was almost immediately enmeshed in half a dozen lariats and rendered helpless.

When the great audience had shouted, screamed,

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 laughed, and wept until every man, woman and child in the concourse was nearly a physical wreck the last cow-puncher rode the last wild horse to the paddock and the rodeo was over. Then to the music of the bands the oval was emptied and this great western assembly from half a dozen states representing all walks of life made their way back to Wyanne and thence to their homes. They had seen the first of the American rodeos and felt well repaid with the entertainment. They did not know it then but they had seen a feature of western entertainment which was destined to become historic and the little cattle city of Wyanne had led the way.

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T was not until the third year of their life together I upon the Crooked Creek ranch that the friendship and understanding between Patches and Larry ripened into its greatest perfection. Up to this time they had been the best of pals, doing the day's work together like good chums. The understanding between them even thus far had been remarked by the rest of the cow-punchers on the ranch, but with the beginning of the third year Patches evinced an understanding of his master and anticipated his wishes in a way that quite amazed the other cow-punchers.

The first indication of Patches' uncommon understanding came late in March, when Larry was taken ill, first with a hard cold and then with an attack of bronchitis. Larry and Patches had been doing most of the range riding that winter. For two or three weeks they had been searching for sick cows and calves. It was the season of the year when the strength of the herd was at its lowest ebb, and the stock had sometimes gone for days when the snow was deepest with very little food. The cows with new calves were often taken

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 with pneumonia, while the calves frequently became so chilled during the first two or three days that they never got over it. It was the range rider's work to look up these animals and drive them to places of shelter and see that they had food.

One morning about the twentieth of March when Larry did not come to the corral as usual, Patches was rather surprised and watched for him for two or three hours, then finally gave up and settled down to the dullness of a day in the corral. But when the same thing happened the following morning he was still more surprised. He greeted each one of the cow-punchers when they came into the corral with a friendly nicker and when he discovered it was not his master his disappointment was very apparent. Two days was bad enough, but when this thing had gone on for five days, Patches became quite desperate and tried several times to slip by such old friends as Pony and Long Tom when they came into the corral. But seeing his efforts frustrated, on the fifth morning he took matters into his own hands.

Larry was resting comfortably in the bunk house. He was not very ill but the doctor had said that he must remain in bed for several days, resting and recuperating his strength. It was about nine o'clock in the morning and Larry had fallen into a pleasant morning doze, when he was awakened by a terrific bang in the

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 hallway leading to the bunk house proper. It sounded to him as though a portion of the great front door had toppled over on the floor. Then he heard the sound of heavy steps in the hallway. He was greatly surprised and, wrapping a blanket over his shoulders and slipping on his shoes, hastened to the door leading to the hallway. As he opened it his astonishment may well be imagined when the beautiful head of Patches was thrust through the doorway into his face.

"Good gracious! Where in thunder did you come from, pal? What are you doing here in the bunk house? I'll have to get you out or you will go through the floor."

Larry hastily shut the door and putting on more clothes entered the hallway and very carefully backed Patches out of the front door, then he called for help. Pony soon came running in answer to his hellos and Patches was taken away and hitched in a stable to his great disgust. Only once or twice before in his whole life had he ever been tied up in one of these niggardly box stalls. As soon as Larry was well enough to have visitors, Pony would bring Patches around to the window by the head of his master's bed and they would hold a short confab through the open widow. Larry would smooth and pat Patches' head and talked to him until he had satisfied the craving of the fine animal for his master's company for that day.

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 It was a joyous morning when Larry and Patches were again riding over the range at their accustomed work. Then it was that Larry noticed that Patches had seemingly developed a strange perspicacity and knowledge of his own thought. They would be poking along some trail going at a slow walk when the thought would come to Larry that he ought to be hurrying up. Patches would anticipate his master's wishes and break into the habitual running trot. Or some evening just before Sunset they would be riding a distant portion of the ranch and Larry would conclude that he had done enough for that day and think to himself that it was about time to quit. Usually before he had entertained these thoughts for many seconds Patches would turn about and make a bee line for the ranch house.

This perspicacity of the horse was also most effective during the round-up season. If Larry singled out a steer away at the center of a large bunch of several hundred cattle, he had only to fix his mind steadfastly upon that particular animal and Patches would raise his head and look over the seething herd until he had spotted the animal in question, then he would start pushing this way and that until he had found the coveted steer, after which he would drive him out into the open in the shortest possible time.

One morning in early July, Patches and Larry had an adventure which the young man never forgot. In

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 fact, it was burned so deeply into his memory that for weeks afterward he would occasionally spring up in bed during sleep and cry out, thinking that once again he was at the heart of the terrible maelstrom that had so nearly overwhelmed him.

It was a beautiful July morning, the American birthday in fact, but it was more like a June day than a July day. The sky was of that dreamy far-away blue which suggests infinite distance. Great white clouds were floating across the blue like stately ships. The distant mountains looked more like a range from dreamland than real peaks and cliffs of interchanging rock and forest. The air was soft and balmy, sparrows were chipping in the grass, Piñon birds were scolding in the thickets, and a sense of infinite peace was over all the land. It was one of those days which make a man gaze, first at the blue sky, then at the distant mountains, then at the green pasture land close at hand, and finally, when he had drunk in all this ravishing beauty, to heave a deep sigh, stretch his muscles and thank God for life. This was just what Larry did and then he noticed that he and Patches had stopped upon a sunny slope of the mesa where wild strawberries were plenty, so he dismounted and allowed the horse to graze upon the green grass while he ate wild strawberries much as he had done when he was a lad in that far away New England.

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 He was so interested in his search for the strawberries and they were so delicious that he wandered many rods from the spot where he had dismounted, in fact he passed over the top of the nearest ridge and part way down the slope beyond. Then he saw on the slope opposite fifty or seventy-five cattle feeding, with still more on the top of the opposite ridge. He did not, at first, think very much about it but stood looking at them. Nearly all of them had their heads down feeding while some were standing in ruminative attitudes looking off, like himself, across the landscape.

There were a dozen little calves in the herd and they were frisking about enjoying the warm summer sunlight and their own freedom upon the great plateau.

Then one of the cows nearest Larry raised her head and looked squarely at him and as though by some psychological action on the rest of the herd another head bobbed up and this cow also gazed straight at the man who was perhaps a hundred yards away on the opposite slope. Then other heads were raised until presently forty or fifty of the cattle which had been feeding a minute before were looking at the solitary man on the nearby hillside. Then the cow which had first noticed Larry began slowly walking toward him and another followed, and another, and another until twenty or thirty of the herd were in motion. But before they had covered fifty feet the walk changed into

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 a slow trot and that in turn to a quick gallop and almost before Larry appreciated the sinister thing that was sweeping down upon him the entire herd had broken into a mad gallop.

Then Larry remembered something that Hank Brodie had told him the first day he had ridden with his uncle on the Crooked Creek ranch. His uncle had said a herd of cattle is like the sea, the sea can smooth out all its little ripples until it looks like the most peaceful thing in the world, but in a few minutes it can break into mighty billows scattering death and destruction in their wake. So it is with a herd of cattle, the first law of the cattle land is never dismount in sight of the herd and never be caught off your horse if you value your life.

Larry's first thought was of Patches, he was only a few rods away and he turned and ran with all his might towards the spot where he had left his faithful horse, but to his great surprise as he topped the crest and looked down the further slope Patches was not there. What did it mean? He surely had left him just over the swell. Then he looked back at the herd of cattle. They were coming on, heads down and tails up, at a terrific pace. The thunder of their hoofs could be heard like the rolling of many great drums. It was a sinister sight, so he bent his every energy and ran as he had not run in many a day. Surely Patches was

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 just over the top of the next crest. He had been mistaken in the position where he had left him. The truth was that Larry in his great haste had gone in the wrong direction and instead of going towards his horse was going away from him in an oblique direction.

Although he ran with all his might, yet when he reached the top of the swell the herd topped the crest where he had been a minute before. So he put forth still greater effort and reached the top of the next crest and saw to his utter consternation that Patches was nowhere in sight. Then a great fear clutched him. He was helpless here upon the open plain with no tree or huge rock to shelter him, and no horse upon whose back he might climb to escape the terrible thing that was sweeping down upon him. He ran with all his remaining strength, he ran until his breath came in wheezy gasps, yet do the best he could, as he topped the next crest the herd came sweeping up the slope behind him only fifty yards away. Then it was that Larry thought he heard other hoofs from another direction. Another herd must be sweeping down upon him, his plight was even more desperate than he had imagined, but as he turned his head to see how close this new danger was, he saw to his great surprise two horses sweeping down upon him like the wind. One was Old Baldy and his uncle was upon his back and the other was Patches. Uncle Henry was holding Patches by

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 the bridle rein with his left hand while he applied his quirt to both horses and they were running at a headlong gallop. Larry saw at once that his uncle was planning to meet the oncoming cattle at an angle of forty-five degrees and was curving in just as close to the herd as he dared to and his thought was that at just the right moment Patches would sweep up to the frantically running cattle and then Larry could mount while they were still going at a gallop. It was a desperate chance, a slip of the foot or hand and all would be over, but it was the only chance they had so Larry put forth the last remaining ounce of strength in his strong muscles as the galloping horses swept down almost in the face of the charging herd. Then it was that Larry's feat of mounting while Patches was going at a gallop, which he had practised so faithfully two years before stood him in good stead, for as the horses swept by so close to the herd that before they could turn both Patches and Baldy were struck by the horns of the frantic cattle, Larry clutched the horn of his saddle and with all his remaining strength threw himself across the haven of Patches' back. It was but the work of an instant to gain the saddle and with a sharp pull on the right rein both Baldy and Patches surged to the right and became a part of the madly rushing herd. In this way they not only saved their riders but they saved themselves from the terrible stampede.

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 They had gone only fifty yards further when the cattle of their own accord began to slow down. The surprise and consternation upon the individual members of the herd was plainly noticeable. They did not in the least associate Larry on horseback with the fleeing man on foot. They had seen that figure so often they thought him a part of the horse.

Seeing how pale his nephew was and how nervous, Hank Brodie rode by his side with one hand on his shoulder until they were safely out of the milling herd.

"Thank God!" exclaimed Uncle Henry fervently, when they were at last out of danger. "You see I heard the sound of stampeding hoofs and discovered Patches just in time. Two seconds later, boy, and there wouldn't have been enough of you left for a respectable funeral. It was a marvelous escape and should teach you a lesson you will never forget."

Another desperate race with death Larry and Patches had during that third eventful year upon the ranch, but this second race was quite different from the first. In the first instance they had raced to save their own lives, but now they raced to save the lives of others.

It happened about October first during a very rainy season. The equinoctial storms had begun about September nineteenth and it had rained almost continually up to the first of October. People on the Crooked Creek ranch had never seen the creek so high before.

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 This would not have mattered especially to them had it not been for the fact that the spring before a small irrigation company, comprising a dozen farmers eight miles down the creek on the flat open country, had built a dam on Crooked Creek just below the holdings of the ranch. While it was some four miles from the ranch fences, yet it was just outside the unfenced land that the ranch people grazed in the winter time. Even when the water was of normal height this artificial lake set back for a quarter of a mile upon one of the ranch's best meadows, but at the time of high water it flooded nearly half a mile.

The head cow-puncher had sent Larry and Patches down to reconnoiter and to see if conditions were as bad as had been reported to him. Larry had made his way along the southeastern bank of the creek and had climbed the bluffs on that side nearest the dam. He was standing on the very crest of the hilltop looking at the beautiful artificial lake which stretched away up the valley for nearly a mile. This lake was also half a mile wide in some places and quite deep, so it will be seen that the flimsily constructed concrete and boulder dam held back a considerable body of water.

The dam had been hastily constructed by the farmers without very much engineering skill. They had not even copied the cunning of the beaver who curves his dam upstream in the middle in order to distribute the

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 Pressure of the water along the entire dam. Instead their dam curved down in the middle and Larry wondered as he looked at it how it had ever managed to hold back the great volume of water behind it. The stones from which it had been built were not even quarried, they were simply boulders of every size and shape held together in a flimsy way by concrete which had been dumped in between them.

The sluice-way was wide open but this did not begin to care for the great volume of water for it poured over the dam two feet deep for its entire length. The water was dark and angry and the whole scene was one of grandeur and mighty power held in check by the ingenuity of man.

Larry was just thinking what a devastating flood would be set loose if this flimsy dam ever gave way when a great boulder near the sluice-way toppled from its place and crashed into the creek below. This seemed to precipitate a sort of land slide or rather a stone slide for one boulder after another went crashing after the first and almost in less time than it takes to tell the entire sluice-way itself rushed out and the water came pouring through a gap twenty feet wide and as many high.

"Gracious!" cried the boy under his breath, "I guess they're in for some water down below."

But the words were barely out of his mouth when

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 more of the dam gave way, first on one side of the stream and then on the other. It went down like a cob-house, a piece here and a piece there, and the mighty—seething waters came rushing through the break like a demon of destruction. Then in a flash the full significance of what he had seen came home to Larry. The back of the dam had been broken and the rest would go in a few seconds. It meant a terrible flood in the valley below. He knew every rod of this country and his imagination pictured the waters piling up in the narrow canyon which stretched away for three miles below, but most of the farmers lived on the prairie land still further down and then he remembered the Ganzers, the family of floaters who had so annoyed the Crooked Creek ranch people the year before, and who had finally set fire to the lower plateau. This family of squatters had built a cabin two miles belocw the dam that very spring and so far as he knew they were still there. They were in the immediate pathway of the flood in one of the narrowest portions of the canyon where the water would pile up like a veritable deluge.

It was true that the Ganzers were enemies of the ranch people, but even so he would have to warn them. And was not little Elsie Ganzer one of the family? Elsie and he had been the best of friends all through the feud between her folks and the ranch people the year before. She was only eight years old and the sins

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 of her parents ought not to be visited on her. Larry remembered her just as he had seen her that first summer morning in July when her flaxen hair was streaming in the morning breeze. Her eyes were of heavenly blue and sparkling with pleasure and her cheeks like roses while her mouth was stained red with wild strawberries.

He had taken her upon the pommel of his saddle and given her a ride on Patches' back and they had been good chums from that hour. He could not forsake her now. Patches who was hitched in a clump of aspens a score of rods away was greatly astonished a minute later when his master came tearing through the bushes and sprang into the saddle pulling the reins free from a sapling as he sprang.

Patches could not imagine why his master was in such a hurry. There were no cattle in sight and there was no race on, but he, like the good horse he was, took his cue from his impatient master and they flew down the little bridle path leading to the wagon trail at a breakneck gallop. Larry leaned low over the horse's neck in order to escape a lashing from the limbs of over-hanging trees. The pathway was rough but PachesPatches [sic] was used to rough riding and hummocks and depressions did not break their head-long gallop.

In the shortest possible time they had covered the mile to the wagon trail. Larry pulled sharply on the

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 left rein and headed his faithful horse straight up the valley into the teeth of the on-coming flood.

He had not covered half a mile when he met the Ganzer family. They were in their lumber wagon drawn by two frantically galloping horses, but all were not there for as he pulled up beside the wagon, old man Ganzer shouted to him, "Elsie, mine little girl, Elsie, we cannot find her."

"Where is she gone?" inquired Larry incredulously.

"We do not know," wailed Mrs. Ganzer, "we cannot find her."

"Cowards," called Larry back over his shoulder as he gave Patches the quirt and galloped on towards the Ganzer cottage. It did not matter that a torrent of water thirty or forty feet high was rushing down the valley towards them, he must save little Elsie at any cost.

Would he reach the cabin ahead of the flood? Would he have time to look for her if he did? And if he discovered her would they both have time to escape on Patches' back? Such were the thoughts that surged through his brain as he galloped madly up the canyon. "In two minutes time he rounded a curve in the draw which gave him an unobstructed view for three hundred yards. Fifty yards ahead was the Ganzer cabin, two-hundred yards beyond that was the avalanche of oncoming waters. It was carrying upon its crest trees,

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 bushes and all sorts of débris and Larry was aghast at the height and breadth of the flood. As he neared the cabin he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Elsie, Elsie, where are you?" Presently he thought he heard a faint cry from the bluff at the left and looking in that direction he saw her running hurriedly down the path which wound out and in among the trees. Her hair was streaming in the autumn wind and she was pale with fear, but she still clutched in her hands a bunch of autumn leaves.

"Run to me, Elsie," Larry called, barely making himself heard above the roar of the flood which was now like the sound of continuous thunder. He turned Patches about so as to be in readiness, but did not dare dismount and all the time he looked over his shoulder to watch the on-coming monster. The seconds seemed like hours, but finally, breathless and excited, Elsie threw herself against Patches' side and at the same instant Larry caught her by the collar of her coat and set her upon the saddle in front of him.

"Cling on tight," he warned.

At that instant the advance wave of the flood struck them. It was foaming, hissing and gnashing its teeth. The wave was only three or four feet high but it gave them a good drenching.

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bounded away. "Thank God," the young man thought, "we are safe."

But he had counted his chickens too soon for at that instant he noted that the water on the left side of the draw was racing much faster than that on the right be-

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 cause of fewer obstructions and the crest was much higher on that side. A great wave eight feet high was rushing across the canyon directly towards them, in fact it almost cut off their retreat. Could he get through it in time?

Then the hissing, foaming wave went over their heads and for a moment Larry thought they were lost. He felt Patches lose his footing and flounder in the flood, but that was only for a second for almost immediately he regained his foothold and burst out of the waters that sought to engulf them, like an express train and was racing down the valley at his best pace. With each hundred feet that he covered he left the water thirty feet behind. When Larry had seen the flood recede to one hundred feet he felt a little safer, but even so the race was a desperate one. If Patches were to slip on a rolling stone or stumble, even the slipping of the saddle or the breaking of a cinch might be fatal. But none of these things happened and rod by rod the fine horse drew away from the on-coming flood and by the time they reached the prairie land at the mouth of the draw the flood had been left far behind. Here they overtook the Ganzers in their lumber wagon.

"Here she is," cried Larry as he reined Patches up beside the wagon. "She is wet as a drowned rat but safe and sound."

"Gott in heaven bless you," cried Mrs. Ganzer,

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text: The New York Times/1918/11/11/Harden Predicted Truce by Yesterday


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 weeping and laughing, as she hugged the child to her breast, "my baby, my baby."

"Gott bless you, my boy," said old man Ganzer in his broken English. "I am ashamed that I have been so mean to you cattle people."

"You don't any of you deserve such a sweet little girl after deserting her in that cowardly way," said Larry, "but take good care of her now you have her back."

Then he galloped away and they heard his clear, resonant voice like a bugle call as it echoed far over the prairie land.

"The dam has burst. The flood is upon you. Look to your lives and your live stock."

Thanks to Larry's timely warning the people of the little settlement on the prairie saved their own lives as well as those of their horses and cattle although they lost a few chicken coops and pig pens and some small stock. But the story of the young man's daring rescue of Elsie Ganzer in the face of the on-coming flood and his heroic warning of the people in the settlement spread like wild fire through the region. If anything more was needed to add to the fame of this wonderful horse and his intrepid rider this story did it.

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HREE friends of the once famous cow-puncher polo team sat in the smoker of the Rocky Mountain Limited as the long train coasted down the shiny rails close to the of the Sierra Madre mountains on the way to Wyanne. These friends were Pony Perkins, Long Tom and Larry. Pony and Tom were playing pitch while Larry sat in the seat next to them looking rather wistfully out of the window. They were passing through the sage brush country, the land of the purple sage or whispering sage if you happened to be in poetic mood. He was thinking how much more beautiful was the Crooked Creek country back in the mountains than was this land of sage brush.

Presently Pony paused in shuffling the cards and said, "I hev been thinkin' ever since we boarded this here flyer that there's one gent missing in this here party. Our company ain't complete. Of course, I am thinkin' of Big Bill."

"Pony, you get out," ejaculated Long Tom, "jest as if we didn't know of whom you was thinkin', Why, I hev been thinkin' of him ever since we been here play-

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 ing cards. That's the reason I played my jack on your ace the last hand in that fool way cause I was thinkin' of Bill."

"I have been thinking of him all day," said Larry wistfully. "Hardly a day passes but what I think of him in some way."

"Well you may," said Pony, "for he looked upon you almost as a son and he was as proud as Lucifer of your way with a hoss."

"What a whale he would have been with a mechette! What a swath he would have mowed among the dons if he'd got into this here enterprise!" put in Long Tom.

"I am thinkin' there won't be much mechette business in this," returned Pony. "I guess it will be all long range rifles. I don't even think our .45's will be of much use unless it comes to a close-up brush with the dons."

At this point in the conversation Pony and Long Tom resumed their game and Larry returned to his looking out of the window. He well remembered the first night he had seen this sage brush country. He had thought it the most monotonous sight in the world with its endless grays and dull browns. But to-night as he saw it in the gathering shadows of the late afternoon he rather liked it although it could not compare with the mesas and canyons up in the Crooked Creek country.

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 As he sat there by the window he recalled how this strange adventure had all come about. It seemed to him more like a weird dream than a stern reality in his own young life.

Two weeks before he had been sent down to Wyanne on business by his uncle. He had been sitting in a restaurant one morning eating bacon and eggs and drinking hot coffee when as he happened to pick up a newspaper while he was waiting for more bacon, his eye fell upon an account of the hideous atrocity in Cuba. Some Spanish soldiers had captured half a dozen unfortunate peons and in order to get these Cubans to reveal the whereabouts of General Garcia's army they had crushed their hands and feet in a cane-crushing mill on a sugar plantation. As Larry pictured this hideous scene his eyes filled with tears and to cover his embarrassment he arose and went to the window. The first thing that his eyes fell upon as he looked across the street was Old Glory waving above the recruiting office just over the way. The beautiful flag was rising and falling in the morning wind and as Larry beheld it he thought it the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in the whole world; and when he remembered that this flag sheltered one hundred million happy people and that it protected every citizen in the land, rich or poor, his love for the flag which he had always worshipped redoubled; and without stopping to think

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