They had to do a good deal of jockeying to get a fair start. Silver Bill, naturally nervous after his first race, was driven frantic by his tipsy rider, who thrashed the beautiful little animal unmercifully with his quirt. For half a dozen times they tried to get off, and as many times Dick shouted Bud back, until he got angry and began to curse both Dick and Fred; but finally they managed to get over the line with Brownie about a neck ahead. “Go,” shouted Dick, and down the track they flew. The little mare, without a touch from her rider, held her lead until they were almost to the finish, then leaping in response to a sharp cut from Fred’s quirt, she spurted ahead and came across the line an easy winner. The Bar B boys threw their hats in the air and yelled like Comanches. When the riders had slowed down and turned back, Nixon broke out with his cursing again, and galloped into the crowd sputtering and swearing and accusing Dick and Fred of foul play. The winning crowd checked their jubilant expressions and turned on him. “Here, you calf, stop your bellerin’ and take your medicine,” said Jim. “What about the start?” asked Dan, as the starters rode up. “Fair enough!” returned Dick. “You’re a liar,” shouted Bud. Dick leaped from his horse and started for Nixon, who was bristling for a fight. “Hold on, boys!” shouted Dan, pointing down the road. The opponents checked themselves and looked up to see two ranch girls galloping towards them. It was Alta Morgan, of the Morgan ranch, and Sally Johnson, the daughter of the game warden. They were riding around the valley to invite everybody to come to the dance at Morgan’s that night. As they dashed up to the crowd, the cowboys received them with whoops of welcome. Their coming suggested a new hope to Nixon. “Here’s the pony that can beat the cow-kid’s mare,” he said. “You’re just in time to sa--to save the day, little gal.” “What do you mean?” asked Alta. “I mean that--that Silver Bill’s got beat, and you’ve got to save the rep--rep-u-tashun of the Morgan ranch; you got to do it.” “How?” “By racin’ Eagle agin’ that Brown mouse over thar. Come, now, show ’em your spunk, little one--show ’em your spunk.” “What, ride in a race?” “Sure!” “Well, I never did such a thing; but if the Morgan name is at stake, I’m ready.” A lusty cheer greeted the girl’s decision. The boys began to lay their wagers. Hats, spurs, chaps, bridles, shirts, kerchiefs, saddles and even horses were put at stake, while Alta, laughing nervously, made ready for the race. Fred also was excited. To ride any race is enough to make one a little nervous, but to be matched against a dashing girl, and a stranger at that, was a thrilling experience. “I’m going to win the race,” said Alta, throwing a smile at him. “I hope you do,” he said gallantly, “but I’ll give you a merry chase.” “All right, come on!”