Ben out of the corner of a twinkling
eye.

"Oh, dear me, but he's awfully ugly," said Stella, coming from the tent
which she and her aunt, Mrs. Graham, occupied a short distance from the
camp.

She was as spick and span as a new dollar, nattily dressed in a
bifurcated riding skirt, from beneath which peeped a pair of high tan
riding boots.

Her white Stetson had just the right curl of brim to be most becoming,
and her wavy hair fell in profusion over her shoulders.

She was pulling on a pair of fringed gauntlets, and her braided quirt,
with a silver knob for a handle, hung by its thong from her slender
wrist.

"Now, see here, Stella, don't yer go ter feelin' knocky about yer mount,
er yer won't hev no confidence in him, an' will lose. I want ter say ter
yer right now that this hoss what looks like ther last rose o' summer,
ther last run o' shad, an' ther breakin' up o' a hard winter in a last
year's bird's nest, is all right, an' he can't lose this race. Ride him
true, an' don't give him ther gad none. All yer got ter do is ter
encourage him by a word now an' then, an' pilot him straight ter ther
wire."

"All right, Bud. I was only joking," laughed Stella. "It isn't the
prettiest horse that wins the race. I know that well, but, you see, like
every girl, I like pretty things, and a horse might as well look good as
run fast. It has always seemed to me that the two go together."

During the middle of the forenoon the broncho boys started for the town
of Snyder to attend the race.

Bud led Hatrack, and a troublesome job he had of it, for the animated
skeleton objected to being on the halter, as any self-respecting range
horse would, and he pulled back and sideways and almost dragged Bud from
his saddle several times.

"Ding bat yer," Bud would shout, "yer ornery, unsanctified, muley,
harebrained, contaminated son o' a zebra, git down on yer feet an'
foller. Ye'll git all that's comin' ter yer when ther race starts. Save
yer sweat until then."

But Hatrack thought differently, and before they were halfway to Snyder
it took all the efforts of Bud in the lead and Ben, Kit, and Clay
Whipple in the rear, to keep him moving in a forward direction.

Only enough boys were left with the herd to keep it from scattering.
Ted and Stella rode in the lead as they entered the town, which was
crowded with a motley assemblage of cow-punchers, gamblers, and Indians
in their gay blankets and with painted faces.

The Indians o