"Go to it, old pal!" Ace thumped the contestant breath-takingly.

"Spitfire! O-o-wah-hoo-o!" bellowed a group of cow-boys, in imitation of
the falsetto Indian yell.

"Oo-wah-hoo-oo-oo!" the Indians bettered them.

Senator King honked in joyous abandon. Pedro's dark eyes flashed. "Spunky
kid!" commented Radcliffe. "I'm betting he'll ride him straight up!"

"He'll be killed!" Rosa shivered.

"Not with those long legs to get a grip with," the Ranger reassured her.

"Ain't that hoss a dinger!" admiringly Long Lester demanded of the
assemblage, as Spitfire danced forth with three lassos trying to hold him
for the blinders. Again he tried to climb the fence, eyes wide, nostrils
quivering.

"I'm just itchin' to ride him," Ted replied to Ace's questioning gaze.
Every nerve in his wiry body was keyed electrically. Then the saddle was
adjusted, Ted was in the stirrups, and the blinder was jerked free.
"R-r-ready! Let 'er go!" was megaphoned.

About that time things began to happen. Spitfire, as if feeling that his
reputation needed demonstrating, began to double in his best bucking form.

"_Ride_ him, Ted!" yelled Ace. "Hey, Ted rides him, eh?"

"Scratch him!" contributed Long Lester, who believed in spurs. "Say,
he's a-scratchin' him up and down!--Ya-hooooooo!" as Ted rode him
up again and again, both arms free, slapping him hip and shoulder,
hip and shoulder with his sombrero. Zip!--_Zip!_--ZOOM!--Around and
around they went, the mustang snorting loudly with each bounce, lathering
in his effort to unseat his rider. But Ted had grown to his back.

The broncho stopped, exhausted, flanks heaving.

"SOME riding!" gasped Pedro.

Then a shout went up. Ted was champion rider of the rodeo!

To the ranch boy's amazement, he now found his long legs dangling from a
seat on the shoulders of his two college friends, while they marched
about to the tune of "A Jolly Good Fellow,"--Norris himself laughingly
joining in the chorus, and Long Lester thumping him breath-takingly
between the shoulder blades.

That was the day the camping trip had been planned. It was also the day
Ace's little Spanish 'plane, wirelessed from its hanger in
Burlingame,[1] had given them all a surprise, and a trial sail. The
pilot arrived shivering in leather jacket and heavy cap, woolen muffler
and goggles, with similar wraps for Ace, whose leather chaps now served a
purpose. For the intense cold of the upper levels it was necessary for
the pilot to