Greg opened his mouth, but Dick nudged him. "Don't bid, Greg. You'd feel cheap if you had to take the pony and couldn't produce the money," Dick admonished him. "Thirty-five!" called the man who had raised the bidding before. "Thirty-six," from Ripley. "Thirty-eight!" called the man. "Thirty-nine!" offered Fred, though he was beginning to perspire freely. "Forty!" promptly offered the man. "Forty-one!" said Fred. And there it hung. After three minutes more of hard work on the auctioneer's part the pony went to Ripley at forty-one dollars. "I don't know what my father will say to me for this," groaned the lawyer's son. "But, anyway, Prescott and his crew didn't get the chestnut pony, and this is the last piece of live stock, so there's none left for them." He cast a triumphant look in the direction of those whom he termed "the mucker boys." "Rip was bidding to keep us from getting a look-in!" whispered Tom Reade gleefully. "That was what I thought," nodded Dick Prescott. "That was why I threw in a couple of bids---just to make him pay for his meanness. But I'm sorry I did it." "Step up and pay your money!" ordered the auctioneer. "Don't keep us waiting all day." "Won't a deposit do?" demanded Fred, coming forward. "Yes; we'll take fifteen dollars, and hold your purchase until one hour after the sale closes," replied the auctioneer. "Then, if you don't come along fast with the remainder, your deposit will be forfeited." "I'll raise the money all right," drawled Ripley, with an important air, as he passed up three five dollar bills. "Give me a receipt for this, please." "You've money enough there to pay it all," said the auctioneer. "Yes; but I may bid on something else," Fred replied. "Good luck to you," laughed the auctioneer. Presently along came a miscellaneous lot of the weapons that had been used by cowboys and Indians connected with the show. The auctioneer tried to close these out in one lot, but there were no bids. Several of the younger men did brisk, but not high bidding for the rifles. These were disposed of. Then tomahawks were offered for sale, singly. The first ones offered went at an average of twenty-five cents each. At last Dan Dalzell secured one for a nickel, paid his money and proudly tucked his purchase under his arm. "Bring out the grand war canoe!" called the auctioneer at last. Now every drop of blood in Dick Prescott's body tingled. His chums, too, were equally aroused. It was this that they had hope of securing---if it went off at a price next to nothing! So intensely interested were the six young high school athletes in the proceedings now that each one steeled himself to prevent betraying the fact. All were aware that Fred Ripley's malicious eyes were watching them. If he suspected that they wanted the canoe he could put the bidding up to a figure that would make their wishes impossible of fulfillment. Dick yawned. He looked intensely bored.