For some time Marjorie had been watching the business-like manner of a tall, black-haired young man with very long legs, who sat as limp as a rag in the saddle and appeared able to ride anything. Though hot, flushed, and covered with dust from his exertions, his boyish face looked familiar to the girl, and she turned to inquire about him of Mr. Hilton, who had also been watching him intently. “You’ve picked the prize-winner this time, Marjorie,” replied the man. “Of course you remember him; he is Jonnie Owens, a professional horse-breaker who works on my ranch. ‘Fly-paper Jonnie’ the boys call him.” “Oh, I’ve heard Bob speak of Flypaper, and I didn’t know what he meant,” laughed Marjorie. “But why the name?” “Because he can stick on any cayuse that ever drew a breath,” answered Mr. Hilton, proudly. “Never saw anything that boy couldn’t ride; so I’m betting on him today.” And it certainly looked as though the rancher stood a good chance of winning his bet. Horses were conquered and riders were thrown until, by the process of elimination, there remained to fight it out between them Jonnie Owens and a vicious buckskin horse, with wicked, blood-shot eyes, who had thrown every man who attempted to ride him. And fight they did! It was now a question of whether the horse or the man should be the winner of the contest. From the moment that the man touched the saddle, that horse reared, plunged, kicked, and bucked in every way he knew; and finding that nothing he could do would unseat the rider, he even tried rolling over upon him. But Jonnie leaped in time, and avoiding the flying hoofs, was in the saddle again the instant the horse regained his feet. Meanwhile, the audience watched in breathless excitement, or else cheered madly, depending on the way they were affected. Marjorie was among the breathless ones, expecting every moment to see the man thrown. Once, for a brief instant, it did look as though the horse had actually won; for the rider was seen to leave his back; but the next moment, with a gasp of amazement, the spectators were aware that the cinch had broken, and Jonnie was sailing through the air, still seated firmly in the saddle. Badly shaken, but undaunted, the man called for another saddle, and the fight was resumed. But, true to his nickname, Jonnie continued to stick like fly-paper in the saddle, until even the horse began to realize that here at last was a rider whom it was beyond his power to throw. Fagged, breathing hard, he came to a stand with wide-spread, trembling legs. While the crowd was cheering madly, “Fly-paper” put the spurs to him, and went tearing around the arena, the master. “Oh!” sighed Marjorie; “I wish I could ride like that!” “So say we all!” replied Lily. CHAPTER IX. THE PICNIC.