BY FAIR MEANS OR FOUL.

A bugle note cut short their search. It proclaimed that the start of the tilting contest was at hand. The boys, accordingly, rode up to the stand where the senorita handed each of them and the other contestants a sharply tipped lance decorated with white, green and red, the national colors.

They were then informed of the rules of the contest, which were simple. Each contestant was allowed twenty-five tries at the rings, and the one gaining the greatest number of points was to be the winner. A blow with the sawdust bag was to count one point off. As the Don finished announcing the rules, the Mexicans gave a yell and a flourish of their lances and galloped off to the starting point.

Jack, Ralph and Walt saluted with a wave of their hats and flourish of their lances, and then headed off after them. Their little display of gallantry caused quite a murmur of admiration to run through the crowd. This was increased to enthusiasm when it was seen how easily and well they sat their active little horses.

“Diablo! Those Gringoes can ride!” exclaimed more than one Mexican in evident amazement that any American could sit on a horse at all.

At the starting line the lads dismounted, as they did not wish to impose any more exertion than was necessary upon their ponies. Leaning their lances against the ropes of the course, they gave themselves over to studying intently the methods used by the tilters, some of whom were old hands at the game, or so one would judge by the confidence they displayed.

“By George, those fellows are doing magnificently,” Jack had to admit, as one after another the Mexican contestants dashed down the human-fringed lane and neatly transfixed the ring without bringing the heavy sack around.

The next instant a roar proclaimed that one victim had been struck, and peering down the course the boys could see the one who had failed galloping off, shaking his spear angrily, while his hat hung all awry on his head from the force of the blow the sack had dealt him.

But while everybody was still laughing at the mishap, and addressing all kinds of jocular remarks to the victim, Jack suddenly turned around as he heard a peculiar noise behind him. He was glad he had done so, for as he faced about the figure of a Mexican slipped away in the crowd. The fellow had been standing by the group of lances assigned to the Americans. With a few quick steps Jack reached the implements and found that an attempt had been made to saw one of them through in the middle. The rascal who had attempted the trick, however, had been detected so quickly by Jack’s vigilance that he had not had time to do much more than scratch the tough ash handle.

“Guess I’ll take charge of those lances,” said Jack to himself, and he proceeded to do so.

The next minute Walt was summoned to take his turn, and leaped into the saddle with a bound. Jack handed him a lance, making no mention of what he had discovered, for he had no wish to make his chum nervous.

Down dropped the starter’s flag, and off dashed Walt down the lane of faces, his mount going like the wind. As he neared the post he crouched and drove his lance, as he thought, straight for the ring. But alas! he hit the arm of the tilting apparatus and around came the sawdust bag, hitting the Border Boy a blow on the head that almost knocked him out of the saddle. A chorus of yells and jeers that made Walt’s ears burn, greeted his failure. He was much downcast, as he rode back to the starting place to await his turn to try again.

Ralph came next and fared no better than Walt. But he was more easy-going about it.

“Guess I’ll do better next time,” he shouted to the laughing Mexicans, none of whom understood him.

Now came Jack. On account of his mount,—little Firewater,—he perhaps attracted more attention than the others. At all events, a great ripple of sound swept like a wave through the crowd as he dashed down the lists. But as the Border Boy neared the ring and couched his lance for the tilt, a sombrero was hurled from the crowd, striking Firewater full in the eyes and causing him to stop and swing with an abruptness that would have sent a less practiced rider flying, and perhaps have caused him serious injury. But if this had been the intent of the man who hurled the hat, it failed, for Jack kept his seat almost without a perceptible shifting.

“A hundred pesos to the man who finds and captures that scoundrel!” shouted the Don angrily. “Senor Merrill, come here.”

Thus summoned to the stand, Jack became the center of all eyes.

“That was an outrage, senor, for which I apologize to you in the name of my country,” said the Don, his voice quivering with real chagrin.

“Oh, it was cowardly!” cried the senorita, clasping her hands impulsively.

“Most probably it was the act of some irresponsible person,” declared Jack, unwilling to give his host more pain.

“He shall suffer for it if he is caught,” was the rejoinder; then turning to one of the officials of the course, the Don told him to announce that Jack would try again.

This time a roar of genuine surprise went up as Jack swept by in a cloud of dust and transfixed the ring as deftly as any of his predecessors.

“Bravo!” cried the Don, “and shame on any of my countrymen who will not say likewise.”

This had its effect on those within hearing of the Don, but on the outskirts of the crowd, where the lower element of the town predominated, low hootings and expressions of dissatisfaction were heard.

On the next round several of the Mexicans failed, but Walt, Ralph and Jack each got one of the rings. This placed Jack and the three Mexicans who had succeeded on an even basis.

The crowd began to shout encouragement to its representatives. One of them, a tall fellow on a splendid horse, turned to Jack as they stood awaiting their turns once more.

“A bet of twenty pesos on the Mexican team, senor,” he said.

“I don’t bet,” rejoined Jack, “but I hope the best man wins.”

The Mexican, with a glance of contempt, replied:

“Peste! You are only boys. Mocho chico. What chance have you to win? You had better withdraw before you are covered with shame by your failure.”

“Guess we’re not worrying,” rejoined Jack easily, “but it’s your turn, senor.”

“So it is. Behold, and you shall see with what ease I will get zee ring.”

He thundered confidently off. Alas, for the caballero’s hopes! It is true that he “got it” in one sense, but instead of getting the ring he got the bag with a force that sent his sombrero spinning into the crowd.

“Not so easy as it looks, eh?” laughed Jack, as the discomfited Mexican came riding back with a black frown on his face.

“Santa Maria, it was my horse’s fault,” he declared, “the brute is no good. He is a beast; what you Gringoes call a ‘skate.’”

He began spurring the animal savagely, making the poor creature jump and caper about in its agony.

“I wouldn’t do that, senor,” said Jack quietly, but with a gleam in his eyes. “By the way, we’ve a proverb in our country that might interest you.”

“A proverb,—bah! what is it?”

“Why, they say a bad workman always complains of his tools,” rejoined Jack, looking the other straight in the eye. “Think it over.”

Before the other could reply it was Jack’s turn once more, Walt and Ralph both having scored failures. Once more the Border Boy succeeded, thus getting one point ahead of the rest. On the next round, however, he missed the mark, while the three Mexicans still in the contest all scored.

“You see,” said the tall Mexican, “we can easily, if we will, prevent you Gringoes from scoring at our national games.”

“By fair means?” replied Jack.

“By any means, senor,” was the reply, “all is fair in love and war.”

“Guess I’ll keep an eye on you,” thought Jack to himself.

With varying fortunes the game went on till two rounds from the concluding one only Jack and two Mexicans were left in the game. Walt and Ralph had dropped out in favor of Jack when they saw that they were too far behind to catch up. The scores of all three, the Mexicans and the Border Boy, were now even, and the excitement was extreme. No cheers or any other sounds were to be heard now. In intense silence the crowd watched every move.

The next bout found them still on even terms. Now came the last, with everyone fraught up to a tense pitch of excitement. It had ceased to be a game of tilting the ring. It was a contest for the supremacy of Mexico at one of her favorite games.

“Now, Jack, old chap, no misses,” cried Ralph from the crowd.

“Go in and win, old boy. You can do it!” came from Walt.

Jack said nothing, but in his heart was a determination to get that ring at any cost but that of fair play. The tall Mexican now regarded the Border Boy with open looks of enmity. He made no attempt to conceal his hatred of the young American boy who had made the best horsemen in Sonora look to their laurels.

But Jack paid no attention to the fellow, concentrating all his attention on his lance, to see that it was in fit condition for the crucial test.

The tall Mexican was the first of the trio to dash off.

Yells, almost prayers, of encouragement implored him to transfix the ring. But just as he couched his lance his horse stumbled, and before he could regain his stride the prize was gone so far as that contestant was concerned. Next came his compatriot. But ill fortune followed him, too. In some unknown manner his aim, which had proved unerring, now failed him at the test, and he struck the ring with a jangling clink but failed to dislodge it.

Bang! Around came the sand bag, knocking him almost off his horse, which he had imprudently reined up, in his chagrin.

Now came Jack’s turn. That lad would not have been human if he had not felt a slight trace of nervousness as he settled himself in his saddle and prepared for the word. Amid a breathless silence it came.

“Yip-ee-ee-ee!”

The cowboy yell broke from the throats of Walt and Ralph. It was the only sound but the clattering of Firewater’s hoofs as he rocketed down the course. But the next instant Bedlam broke loose as Jack’s lance entered the ring cleanly and removed it from its snap without a hitch. Howls and a few cheers filled the air, but the former by far predominated. But amid the confusion there came a sudden sound that abruptly halted the babel.

Three shots sounded out sharp and clear. At the same instant Jack, who had just reined in Firewater, was seen to reel from his saddle and fall apparently helpless to one side of it.