But Bud had seen it, too, and the little roan squatted like a rabbit. The steer, reaching the rope's end, doubled up and fell--but fell against the fence. There had not been quite room enough. Bud was off saddle, and the little roan, knowing well what was going on, walked away like a man, pulling hard on the rope to keep the steer down. If it had been a larger steer or a fatter one, there would have been no trouble; but this one fought like a cat, now on its knees, now on its feet. Bud seized it by the tail, and with a single fierce toss he laid it flat, then he tied--and arms up. Turk McGlory waited with hands clenched to hear the time. "Fifty seconds." So Bud was beaten by a second, and beaten because he didn't have a fair field. How the crowd howled for the Arizona champion. Bud came up smiling and unconcerned. "Now, McGlory," he said, "you must make a showing for Texas." "What am I offered on Turk McGlory against the field?" shouted the pool-seller. "Now's your last chance." "Hurrah for the kid from Texas!" shouted other voices. Turk McGlory was at the line, astonished to find himself coiling his rope with so much ease. He felt that he wasn't doing it himself, but that some one else was working in him. The sun blazed hot on the field, but everything seemed dim and indistinct. To him all the voices kept shouting: "Turk McGlory, Turk McGlory, Turk McGlory." "Hurrah for Texas and the calico horse," came a shout from the grand stand. "Wait till they see you run, Pinto," Turk said between his teeth, and the pinto stirred nervously under him. "Ready," called Turk McGlory, though not in Turk McGlory's voice. He gave one glance behind him. The grand stand was a picture of a girl in blue and white; she was the picture, all the rest was frame.