Try as she would, Connie could not rest that night. Her mind was a turmoil of worries which made anything but fitful sleep impossible. The girl stood long by her bedroom window, gazing out across the moonlit ranch which had been her childhood home; now her sole possession. She could not rid her mind of the fear that soon her beloved Rainbow would pass into the hands of another owner. At dawn she dressed and sauntered down to the stables.

When Connie was a little girl she liked nothing better than to get up early to see the sunrise; and this morning, as the eastern sky reddened against the distant mountains, the old scenes lived again.

Connie was startled from her reverie by the sound of masculine voices coming from the bunkhouse. The cowboys were starting the day with their usual round of banter. They talked so loudly that she could not help hearing every word that the men said.

“Well, Alkali,” Lefty Forbes drawled, “in a few days now me and you can feast our eyes on the champeen bulldogger of these here parts.”

“Meanin’ who?” Alkali asked.

“Why, meanin’ old Blakeman hisself. To hear him tell it a man would think nobody even heard of bulldoggin’ till he came along.”

“I wouldn’t lay no money on him,” Alkali said. “The guy is a big loud-speaker.”

“And that ain’t all he is nuther,” Lefty added. “He’s a washout when it comes to runnin’ a ranch. Look at the jam he’s got this place into.”

“Yeah, and Miss Connie walked right into it. What a homecomin’!”

“I know. Alkali. And I feel rotten about the whole deal. Miss Connie is one swell kid. If it weren’t for her I’d quit today.”

At that moment the girl saw Forest Blakeman approaching from around the house. She wished to warn Lefty and Alkali. If the foreman heard them there might be trouble.

Picking up a large clod of earth she tossed it against the bunk-house door.

“Hey, what’s that?” Lefty shouted.

Both cowboys emerged and looked about.

“It was only I,” Connie laughed. Then she jerked her head in the direction from which Blakeman approached.

“There comes your friend now,” she said, her voice lowered.

“Oh, that big ape,” Alkali muttered, scorn in his voice.

The foreman came up to the trio, looking quickly from one to the other. He remarked that Connie was abroad early.

“Yes, Mr. Blakeman,” she replied. “I couldn’t sleep so I wandered down here. Beautiful sunrise, isn’t it?”

“It’s o.k., I reckon.”

“I think we are going to have fine weather for the rodeo,” Connie continued mischievously. “Are you in any of the events, Mr. Blakeman?”

“Tell her, Blake!” laughed Lefty and there was an edge to his voice. “Tell her they couldn’t run the show without you doin’ some fancy bulldoggin’.”

“Yeah!” Alkali put in. “They don’t come no hotter than Blake when he sets himself to dump over a steer by his horns.”

“Now listen, you two,” Blakeman said, perceptibly angered. “I don’t have to take any sarcasm from a couple of cow stooges like you! I’ll show you what I can do. I’ll be on hand for the bulldoggin’ and I hope you lugs lay your money against me!”

Having delivered himself of this defy, Forest Blakeman turned on his heel and walked off.

“We’ll be there to see it, won’t we, Alkali?” Lefty chortled.

“With both of our hair in one braid,” Alkali agreed.

“Just wait till Blake goes up against Catapult. Boy, oh boy, will that steer ruin him?”

Connie did not quite follow the two men’s conversation. She wondered who this Catapult might be.

“Why, that’s Pop Bradshaw’s prize bulldoggin’ steer, Miss Connie,” Lefty explained. “That old hunk of animated baloney has got a neck that’s made of pure spring steel.”

“It sure is,” Alkali confirmed. “That steer ain’t never been throwed in his whole life. If you ask me there ain’t a man a-livin’ who can do it, nuther.”

“He must be quite an animal,” Connie remarked, laughing.

“Blakeman’s been braggin’ all winter he’s a champeen bulldogger,” Alkali went on contemptuously. “No one round here ain’t even seen him toss up a cow!”

The talk ceased abruptly as Jim Barrows came up from the house. He walked with a firm step and seemed to have fully recovered his strength.

“You’re to start herdin’ in the southeast section,” Lefty told him.

“I’ll ride out that way with you after breakfast,” Connie said quickly. “I thought I might go over to the Bradshaw ranch.”

The stranger nodded and followed Lefty to the corrals. He roped his own horse and did it neatly the girl observed. By the time she had finished breakfast he was ready to start and had saddled Silvertail for her.

As they rode along, Connie kept stealing quick glances at her companion. She could not figure him out. Lefty had been right in saying that he was no tenderfoot. But who was he?

Connie might have asked a number of direct questions, but she did not. After all, Jim Barrows’ business was his own, she thought. She had no call to inquire into his private life.

At the Forks the girl said good-bye and rode on toward the Bradshaw ranch where she hoped to renew her friendship with Enid.

“It’s three long years since we’ve seen each other,” she thought. “I imagine we’ve both changed a great deal.”

Connie unhooked the gate without dismounting and galloped up the lane to the ranch house. The sound of hoofbeats brought both Enid and her father to the door.

“Connie!” cried Enid, rushing out to meet her. “My, but it’s good to see you again.”

Connie sprang lightly to the ground, tossing the reins over Silvertail’s head.

“You’re surely a wonderful sight for sore eyes yourself!” she declared. “I thought you’d be coming over to see me.”

Enid glanced quickly at her father and then looked away.

“Well—I intended to come—but——”

“I know,” said Connie quickly, “I haven’t been home many days.”

“Come on into the house,” Enid invited.

“I hear you happen to own a champion steer by the name of Catapult, Mr. Bradshaw,” remarked Connie as she stepped up on the veranda.

“Reckon I do,” answered the rancher.

“I’d love to see Catapult,” Connie went on. “All the boys are saying no one can throw him.”

“Catapult’s out on the range now,” replied the rancher. It seemed to Connie that his voice was not very friendly. At any rate he did not carry on the conversation.

“Come on into the house, Connie,” urged Enid hurriedly.

Connie spent a pleasant hour with her friend, but there were moments when they both felt ill at ease and at a loss for something to say.

“It’s only because we haven’t seen each other for such a long while,” Connie thought. When she left she gave Enid a cordial invitation to ride over to the Rainbow.

In the days which followed the girl found much to occupy her time at the ranch. She spent many hours in the saddle practicing for the rodeo. Sometimes she rode alone and occasionally with the new cowhand, Jim Barrows. He had proven himself to be both quiet and efficient, but his very ability seemed to infuriate Forest Blakeman who gave him the most disagreeable tasks about the ranch.

Twice Connie drove over to the Bradshaw Ranch. She and Enid had delightful visits and at times they came close to recapturing the old feeling of comradeship which had existed between them. But always Connie sensed that Pop Bradshaw did not seem to like her. At least he never became cordial or even as friendly as upon the day of their first meeting.

“Don’t mind Pop,” Enid said to her once. “He’s not himself these days. We’ve been losing money on the ranch, and you know what this place means to him. He’d rather give an eye than lose it.”

“I know exactly how he feels,” Connie replied.

Although she went many times to the Bradshaw Ranch, Enid never once came to the Rainbow. At first Connie was puzzled and then hurt.

“I feel almost as if Enid didn’t like me at times,” she thought. “Can it be that she’s jealous because I’ll compete against her in the riding contest?”

Connie could not really believe that Enid would take such a narrow-minded attitude. Yet something was wrong. She was certain of that.

“I’ll not go to the Bradshaw Ranch until she comes over to see me,” Connie thought.

Several days elapsed and Enid did not visit Rainbow Ranch. A sense of hurt gave way to one of indignation.

“Well, if that’s how she feels about it, I’ll show her I really can ride!” Connie told herself grimly. “I’ll win that prize if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

That very afternoon she roped Dynamite, one of the most unmanageable horses on the ranch. Despite the efforts of every cowboy at the Rainbow, Dynamite had never been successfully broken.

“Connie, you’re plumb crazy to try it,” Lefty told her. “That hoss is a sunfisher. He’ll go over on his back sure as shootin’.”

Connie would not be dissuaded. With Lefty’s help she saddled the broncho, while the other cowboys came to the corral fence to watch.

Then the blindfold was jerked from Dynamite’s eyes and the gate swung open. The bronco shot up into the air, twisted and came down with a terrific jar which all but unseated Connie. Again he leaped, seeming to double in the middle.

“Ride ’im, Connie!” shouted Lefty.

But Dynamite had not played his best trick. He shot straight into the air and before the girl could free herself, came down on his back. Connie was pinned beneath.

A yell went up from the cowboys, but it was Jim Barrows who was the first to act. His rope sailed out to catch the fallen bronco, thus preventing Dynamite from running while Connie’s feet were still in the stirrups.

“Are you bad hurt?” Lefty cried as he and Alkali ran to help her.

“No, I’m all right,” Connie said shakily.

Her face was pale and twisted with pain.

“You are hurt, kid,” Lefty said, lifting her to her feet.

“Just my shoulder,” Connie muttered.

“No bones busted?”

“Not even a little one, Lefty. But I did twist my shoulder pretty hard.”

Connie tried to laugh and failed completely.

“It served me right,” she said. “I should have known enough to stay off Dynamite. I was trying to show off.”

Connie brushed the dirt from her clothes and walked slowly to the house, conscious that the cowboys were watching her soberly. She had done a very foolish thing in trying to ride Dynamite. The penalty was apt to be great.

“Unless my shoulder mends rapidly I’ll never be able to ride in the rodeo,” she thought. “And without that five hundred dollars I haven’t a Chinaman’s chance of saving the ranch.”