A thicket of small trees and bushes loomed up in the moonlight fifty yards ahead of the trio. Lefty pointed to the spot as he said:

“We’ll have to park in there and take a chance.”

Scarcely had the unique cavalcade disappeared into the thicket when Pop Bradshaw and his foreman emerged from the ranch house. They looked about and then walked over to the meadow trail. Connie and the cowboys could hear them conversing in low tones and they saw Pop shoot the beam of his flashlight on the trail.

“We must have dreamed it, Sam,” he said in a puzzled tone. “The only way out of the meadow is down this trail and there’s not a fresh steer track on it. Just a few horse and shoe tracks where some of the boys went in to do a little fishin’ at the lake.”

The two men walked back to the ranch house.

“That was a narrow escape,” chuckled Connie as Lefty and Alkali started Catapult on the move again.

“Sure was,” Lefty agreed. “I’ll be glad when we get this critter to the rodeo barns.”

Connie parted company with the cowboys farther on down the road, returning alone to the ranch while they delivered Catapult into the keeping of Jack Crawford. It was after two o’clock when she reached home. Letting herself quietly into the house, she went to bed and slept so soundly that she did not awaken until Marie opened the door in the morning.

“Oh, I had no idea it was so late!” Connie cried in dismay. “If I don’t hurry I’ll be late for the rodeo.”

As she hurriedly dressed in cowgirl regalia which she planned to wear in the parade, she tried out her shoulder. It was still sore, but she could bear the pain now when she moved it.

Connie had coffee and rolls in the patio alone, and then hastened outside. Lefty and Alkali, resplendent in bright colored shirts and silver-trimmed sombreros, were saddling up their broncos ready to start for Red Gulch. Blakeman and Jim Barrows already had left.

“How did you come out last night after we parted company?” she asked quickly.

“Everything’s set,” chuckled Lefty. “And you should have heard old Blake a-blowin’ around this morning. He thinks he has that bulldoggin’ event cinched. Wait ’till Catapult gives him the double ’o’.”

Connie laughed and declared that she would not miss the fun for anything in the world. Saddling Silvertail she rode into Red Gulch with her friends. On the way in she told them of her determination to compete in the various events open to girls.

“You’re takin’ a big chance with that game shoulder,” Lefty declared. “I wouldn’t do it if I was you.”

“That money means a lot to me,” Connie replied soberly. “If I could win the five hundred dollar prize, I might be able to raise enough extra so I could meet my bank obligations. Then I’d be able to keep the ranch.”

“We’ll sure be a-pullin’ for you, Connie,” Alkali declared warmly.

Red Gulch was jammed with visitors even at such an early hour. The town was decorated with flags; bands, playing slightly off key, marched up and down the streets. Cowboys in big hats and high-heeled boots lounged in the doorways of buildings calling out friendly greetings to passers-by. Indians from nearby reservations added to the crowd.

At the entrance of the Fairgrounds Connie parted with her friends. While she went to the rodeo barn to look over the horses. Lefty and Alkali wandered toward the arena. Immediately an official hailed them.

“I can use you boys,” he said. “I want you to keep everyone except rodeo officers, performers and owners out of the ring.”

Lefty and Alkali leaped the fence and strolled about observing the fast-gathering throngs that swarmed into the terraced tiers of the wooden grandstand. Men in charge of the day’s activities hustled about on horseback, calling orders, while a group of starters and judges conferred at the distant end of the arena.

Suddenly Lefty’s eyes were arrested by the sight of Pop Bradshaw talking with Forest Blakeman near the arena fence. An intriguing idea flashed into his mind. What could be sweeter than for Pop to be among those immediately present when Catapult magically appeared in place of the steer which he believed had been substituted?

“Come on in. Pop,” he called. “We want you in here to see that Catapult gets a square deal.”

The idea delighted the crowd. The old man hesitated but friendly hands seized and boosted him over the fence.

Connie, who understood the prank which the cowboys were playing on Pop, felt rather sorry for him. But she had no sympathy for Forest Blakeman. He was swaggering about the arena, his attitude proclaiming that already he had been named the champion bulldogger.

As Connie stood by the fence, Jim Barrows sauntered over. After making a few casual remarks he fell silent, but the girl noticed that his gaze followed Blakeman almost constantly.

“Your foreman reminds me of someone,” he said thoughtfully.

“That’s funny,” laughed Connie. “Blakeman was saying almost the same thing to me about you. By the way, where did you work before you came to the Rainbow, Jim?”

“Oh, one place and another,” the man answered vaguely. “Mostly on ranches down in Texas.”

Without giving Connie an opportunity to ask another question, he moved away.

“He certainly means to keep his past his own,” the girl reflected thoughtfully. “I never met anyone so reserved. I wonder if perhaps he hasn’t been in trouble sometime?”

Connie dismissed the matter from her mind because it was time for the opening parade. She rode in it, side by side with Enid Bradshaw. The other girl nodded almost curtly to Connie, offering no remark save to ask about her injured shoulder.

Connie tried not to show her hurt at Enid’s attitude. It only made her more determined than ever to win in the riding event.

The preliminary contests were quickly run off. Roping events, steer riding and Indian races excited but passing interest.

At last the bulldogging event was called. Several cowboys from the Bar Six Ranch performed with a skill which brought cheers from the crowd. The steer was allowed a thirty foot start after he had rushed from the pen. Then horse and rider were after him, with a hazer to keep the animal in a straight course. Catching the steer by the horns, the cowboy would hurl himself from the saddle, and twist the animal’s horns until he rolled over in the dust.

“Bring on Blakeman!” shouted the crowd. “Let’s see him throw Catapult!”

Lefty glanced anxiously toward the stanchion, trying to catch Jack Crawford’s eye. He need have had no fears, for just then the gate opened and a large rangy animal was driven in.

Shouts of “Catapult! Catapult, do your stuff!” informed Forest Blakeman that something had gone amiss.

It dawned upon him instantly that Pop Bradshaw had double crossed him. Despite his anger he realized that there could be no retreat. To default would be to make himself ridiculous, and brand himself a coward. He waved to the crowd and rode alongside the stanchion.

As the bars dropped. Catapult rushed out into the arena. Partisans of the animal greatly outnumbered those of the man and cries of, “Throw him, Catapult,” muffled occasional urgings of, “Throw him, cowboy!” Blakeman appeared oblivious of the crowd as he drove home his spurs and rushed pell mell after the fleeing steer.

They traversed nearly the full length of the arena before the sorrel overtook the steer and raced him head to head. Then Blakeman shot through the air in a perfect leap as if hurled from the saddle by the uncoiling of a gigantic spring. Headforemost he dived, his body parallel to the ground. He grasped Catapult’s horns and brought him to a standstill.

Then, exerting the last iota of his strength, Blakeman made a supreme effort to bring the animal to the ground. Catapult’s head slowly turned under the tremendous force of the man’s tensed muscles. But he suddenly snorted and with a sharp toss of his head, hurled his tormentor into the air.

Blakeman sprawled into soft turf, twenty feet away. The crowd roared its delight; the air became thick with sailing sombreros. Lefty and Alkali laughed until they collapsed weakly against the fence.

“And him claimin’ to be a champeen bulldogger!” Lefty jeered.

Blakeman arose unhurt but with a mighty anger surging through him. Not a dozen paces away he saw Pop Bradshaw, the man he believed to be the author of his downfall. Furiously, he advanced upon the embarrassed rancher.

“So you double crossed me!” he said menacingly. “You’ll pay for this!”

“I didn’t know anything about it,” whined the old man.

Apparently aware that any violence upon the person of Pop Bradshaw would only draw the anger of the crowd, Blakeman turned and limped away. He was followed by the boos of the throng.

“Guess that ought to put a damper on his braggin’ for a while,” Lefty grinned. “I’ll bet Pop spends the rest of his life wonderin’ how Catapult got out of the mountain medder too!”

His voice died quickly away for the announcer was calling the next event. It was the bronco riding contest for girls.

“Where’s Connie?” Lefty muttered.

With one accord he and Alkali turned the chutes. They saw the girl, white-faced and grim, perched on the fence, waiting for her turn to ride.

The two cowboys crowded close enough to speak an encouraging word.

“Good luck, Connie!” grinned Lefty.

“I’ll need it,” Connie replied with a forced smile. “I’ve drawn Tanglefoot—the worst bronco in the lot.”