"Could he tell you any good about me? Could he say anything except that I was a worthless no-'count----?" She put her hand on his arm and stopped him. "Don't! I won't have you say such things about yourself. You were just a boy in trouble." "How many would have remembered that? But you did. You fought good for my life that night. I'll pay my debt, part of it. The whole I never could pay." His voice trembled in spite of the best he could do. Their eyes did not meet, but each felt the thrill of joy waves surging through their veins. The preliminaries in the rough riding contest took place that afternoon. Of the four who won the right to compete in the finals, two were Curly Flandrau and Dick Maloney. They went together to the Cullison box 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."