Mason witnessed some of the finest riding it had ever been his fortune to see. The men were to race over a given course, picking up objects off the ground tied up in handkerchiefs, wheel, and continue their run to the corral. The yelling of the cowboys broke into a roar as it was seen that Red Sullivan had taken the lead. Mason’s blood tingled with excitement as the men cheered their respective favorites. The ranch owner’s face was wreathed in smiles while Josephine was clapping her hands and cheering for Scotty, as he had always been a favorite of hers. As the riders made the turn and started on the home stretch it was seen that Scotty had pulled slightly into the lead. It was a straight race now with nothing to pick up, and the riders urged their mounts to the limit, with both horses again running neck and neck. When almost to the goal, Scotty threw his horse forward in a last heroic effort, flashing by the judge, the winner by a few feet. A cheer went up from the cowboys as they crowded around Scotty to shake his hand. “Guess I win that Stetson hat, don’t I, Red?” he called out to his late opponent, his eyes twinkling. “You sure do,” answered Red, his manner a trifle piqued, “but this thing ain’t settled for good. I mean to have another go with you and it won’t be so close next time.” “Any time or place will suit me,” answered Scotty cheerfully. The next contest was to be a roping duel between Buck Miller and Pete Carlo the halfbreed. Buck had protested against having anything to do with the greaser, as he had named him in contempt, but Bud’s reasoning had prevailed and Buck finally agreed to go on with him. Bud Anderson, acting as the judge, was explaining the rules for the expert ropers to observe, when a commotion was heard from some of the cowboys at the far end of the corral. “Here comes Buck’s friend,” yelled a cowboy from this group. All looked, and sure enough, it was the stranger that Buck had told them about. Buck muttered something suspiciously like an oath, and glanced at Mason. The latter was intently watching the newcomer. All sport came to a standstill, and eyes were turned towards the stranger. He was near enough for them to see that he rode a small horse, or else he was a very tall man for his feet just cleared the ground. He was riding at a snail’s pace and fanning himself with a wide rimmed hat. A suit that fairly groaned with loud checks graced his tall and angular form. Silence fell upon the group of cowboys as they watched the apparition dismount in front of them. Dismount is not the word, for he simply stuck his feet on the ground and let the horse walk out from under him, after which he turned and faced the cowboys. “Somebody dead?” he questioned, gazing solemnly at the group, and bowing blandly to each one. “I take it, this is the Bar X ranch,” he rattled on, before anyone could speak.