Last of all came Ralph. He set his lips firmly and made the best cast he knew how at a sorrel colt that was galloping past him. The cowboys set up a jeering yell as they saw the way he handled his rope, and Ralph flushed crimson with mortification. Again and again he cast his rope, each time failing to land his animal. At last Mr. Reeves ordered one of the punchers to catch the pony for him. Ralph, feeling much humiliated, saw the sorrel caught with neatness and despatch. “Must have bin practicing ropin’ with yer maw’s clothes line,” grinned the cowboy who had effected the capture as he handed the pony over to Ralph. While this was going on Jack had secured his heavy stock saddle and approached the buckskin to put it on its back. But the instant the little brute saw the saddle it began a series of wild buckings, lashing the air frantically with its hind feet. “Now look out for fun!” yelled a cow–puncher. “The kid’s got hold of old Dynamite,” laughed another. Jack heard this last remark and realized from it that the pony he had selected was a “bad one.” But he determined to stick it out. Mr. Reeves came over to his side. “I wouldn’t try to ride Dynamite, my boy,” he said. “He’s the most unruly broncho on the ranch. Take a quieter one like your chums have.” “I like this buckskin, sir, and, if you have no objection, I mean to ride him,” spoke Jack quietly. Something in the boy’s eye and the determined set of his mouth and chin told the ranch owner that it would be useless to argue with Jack. “At any rate, I’ll send Bud in to help you cinch up,” he volunteered. “Thank you,” said Jack, keeping his eyes on the buckskin, which had his ears laid back, and was the very picture of defiance. Bud, grinning all over, came into the corral swinging a rope. He skillfully caught the broncho’s legs and threw the refractory animal to the ground. The instant the pony was down Jack ran forward and put a blindfold over his eyes. “Waal, I see you do know something,” admitted Bud grudgingly, “but you ain’t never goin’ ter ride Dynamite.” “Why not?” “Cos there ain’t a puncher on this ranch kin tackle him and I ’low no bloomin’ Tenderfoot is going ter do what an old vaquero kain’t.” “Well, we’ll see,” said Jack, with a quiet smile. Having blindfolded the pony, a “hackamore” bridle was slipped over his head. To this Dynamite offered no resistance. The blindfold made him quiet and submissive for the time being. When the bridle was in place he was allowed to rise, and before the pony knew it, almost, Jack had the saddle on his back and “cinched” up tightly. This done, the boy threw off his hat, drew on a pair of gloves and adjusted his heavy plainsman’s spurs with their big, blunt rowels. “All right?” grinned Bud. “All right,” rejoined Jack in the same quiet tone he had used hitherto. To judge from outward appearances, he was as cool as ice; but inwardly the Border Boy knew that he was in for a big battle.