ox to get
the applause due them.

Kate Cullison had two guests with her. One was Laura London, the other he
had never seen. She was a fair young woman with thick ropes of yellow hair
coiled round her head. Deep-breasted and robust-loined, she had the rich
coloring of the Scandinavian race and much of the slow grace peculiar to
its women.

The hostess pronounced their names. "Miss Anderson, this is Mr. Flandrau.
Mr. Flandrau--Miss Anderson."

Curly glanced quickly at Kate Cullison, who nodded. This then was the
sweetheart of poor Mac.

Her eyes filled with tears as she took the young man's hand. To his
surprise Curly found his throat choking up. He could not say a word, but
she understood the unspoken sympathy. They sat together in the back of the
box.

"I'd like to come and talk to you about--Mac. Can I come this evening,
say?"

"Please."

Kate gave them no more time for dwelling on the past.

"You did ride so splendidly," she told Curly.

"No better than Dick did," he protested.

"I didn't say any better than Dick. You both did fine."

"The judges will say you ride better. You've got first place cinched,"
Maloney contributed.

"Sho! Just because I cut up fancy didoes on a horse. Grandstand stunts are
not riding. For straight stick-to-your-saddle work I know my boss, and his
name is Dick Maloney."

"We'll know to-morrow," Laura London summed up.

As it turned out, Maloney was the better prophet. Curly won the first
prize of five hundred dollars and the championship belt. Dick took second
place.

Saguache, already inclined to make a hero of the young rustler, went wild
over his victory. He could have been chosen mayor that day if there had
been an election. To do him justice, Curly kept his head remarkably well.

"To be a human clothes pin ain't so much," he explained to Kate. "Just
because a fellow can stick to the hurricane deck of a bronch without
pulling leather whilst it's making a milk shake out of him don't prove
that he has got any more brains or decency than the law allows. Say, ain't
this a peach of a mo'ning."

A party of young people were taking an early morning ride through the
outskirts of the little city. Kate pulled her pony to a walk and glanced
across at him. He had taken off his hat to catch the breeze, and the sun
was picking out the golden lights in his curly brown hair. She found
herself admiring the sure poise of the head, the flat straight back, the
virile strength of him.