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.
chaps will be through the roof before long, and when they discover
we’re gone and see the hole in the chimney, they’ll guess the route
we’ve taken.”
When the table had been dragged over under the window and
the chair placed upon it, Pete clambered up and found that he could
easily reach the aperture.
“It’s all clear outside, too, and the corral isn’t more than a few
rods away,” he announced. “Boys, if we have any sort of luck we
may get out of this and save the young lady. I’ll go first, for it’s a
longish drop to the ground. Those that foller kin land on my
shoulders.”
The next instant he raised his lithe, ranch-toughened form and
wriggled through the hole. In a flash he was gone.
“Your turn next, senorita,” said Jack; “allow me to assist you.”
The brave girl made no foolish hesitation about obeying. With a
graceful little leap she was on the table and by Jack’s side. In a jiffy
he had assisted her through and she was caught by Coyote Pete
outside. Next came the professor; following him, Walt and Ralph. As
Walt alighted, he was ordered to creep over to the corral, keeping
cautiously in the shadow of the willows. Once in the corral he was to
get all their horses and a saddle for the senorita, if possible,
selecting any one from the two or three hanging on the fence after
the shiftless Mexican fashion. Presently Jack joined him at the risky
work, having been the last to emerge from the window.
They had got the last of their own horses and had selected one
for the senorita, when there came a loud shout from behind them
followed by a volley of shots.
A dreadful fear shot into Jack’s heart. Had they been discovered?
 CHAPTER XIII.

SENORITA ALVERADO.

But the next minute, to their infinite relief, they decided that it
was only a false alarm. In all probability, so Jack surmised, it
signified that the Mexicans had broken through the roof and were
firing a volley of shots into the garret to terrify its supposed inmates.
He could hardly forbear a chuckle as he pictured the outlaws’
astonishment, when, tired of their attempts to terrify, they should
penetrate the garret and find it empty of life.
“Providence willing, we’ll be far away by then,” he thought to
himself as, with a wave of his arm, he signalled to the others
crouching in the shadows of the rancho, that all was ready.
The senorita laughed at the idea of a side saddle, when Jack
apologetically indicated to her the ordinary Mexican affair which had
been the only one they could raise.
“A girl born and brought up on a Mexican hidalgo’s estancia can
ride in any saddle, senor,” she said, “more particularly to oblige such
gallant rescuers.”
Jack felt himself coloring under his minstrel-like coating of soot
as the girl spoke. The lad was somewhat susceptible, and the dark
eyes of the senorita had made quite an impression on him.
“The pleasure is all ours, senorita,” he said, with a vague
recollection of having seen that phrase in print somewhere.
 The young Mexican girl sat her saddle as lightly as a bird on a
bough, and the mount they had selected for her,—“borrowing” one
of the outlaws’ animals for the purpose,—was a fine, springy-
stepping creature, full of life and action.
“I guess our best plan is to head for Don Alverado’s estancia,”
said Jack, as they crept as noiselessly as possible forward.
But, as a matter of fact, much caution was not necessary, for the
Mexicans in the rancho, confident of having bottled up the
Americans, were making so much noise that the light amble of the
horses could not be heard above the roar. Their chief danger lay in
being seen.
This, however, was not so probable as might be imagined. The
corral was separated from the house by quite a small plantation of
willows and cottonwoods, among whose branches the moonlight
filtered thinly. Once they had rounded the corral they would be
practically invisible.
The senorita informed them that it was ten miles from there to
Santa Anita, in the suburbs of which her father lived. This, as we are
aware, Jack already knew, and the corral once rounded their steeds
were set at a lively gait.
“Are there any police in Santa Anita, senorita?” asked the
professor, as they rode rapidly through the night, the well-fed
horses, refreshed by their rest, pacing strongly forward. The
professor was a great stickler for law and order.
“No police, senor,” was the rejoinder, “but it is the headquarters
of the Mexican Rangers who have charge of the district. My father is
the local magistrate and administrator, and has charge of them.”
“I sincerely hope that he will set them on the track of those
ruffians,” said the man of science severely, “Mexico should be known
as a land of law and order like the United States.”
“Yet I have heard that you occasionally have train robbers and all
sorts of terrible criminals in the United States, senor.”
The senorita spoke gently, but like all of her race, she was
patriotic and a flash of fire was in her eye as she spoke.
 “But we try to get rid of them, senorita,” stammered the scientist,
somewhat taken aback at this self-possessed young lady’s reply.
“And so do we, senor,” was the answer, which caused Coyote
Pete to chuckle, “but you see, they won’t always wait to be caught.”
“You speak English charmingly, senorita,” said the professor, in an
endeavor to change the subject and pay a compliment at the same
time.
“That is to the credit of one of your American colleges, senor. I
was educated at Vassar University.”
The boys exchanged glances. So that explained the senorita’s
poise and self-possession, which were far more those of an
American girl than of a languishing Spanish beauty.
“I must compliment Vassar,” said the professor, bowing his
angular form. But he had forgotten that he was riding bareback and
was not the most accomplished of horsemen in any event. His
attempt at courtliness almost caused his downfall, for, losing his
balance, he would have slipped from his gaunt steed if he had not
grasped it desperately by the wither lock with one hand while his
arm encircled its neck.
From this undignified position he was rescued by Coyote Pete,
who spurred swiftly to his side,—it will be recalled that Coyote had
saved his spurs out of the general loss of property—and aided him to
recover his balance.
They all had the grace to refrain from laughing, although the
temptation was a sore one. The man of science, glancing
suspiciously about him, was unable to detect the shadow of a smile
on any of their faces, although the senorita did find it necessary to
lean over and adjust her stirrup leather. When she looked up,
however, her face was quite demure.
From time to time, as they rode forward over the level savannah,
they glanced behind them. But the intervals grew longer as the
distance between them and the Mexicans increased, and there was
still no sign of pursuit.
 “I guess they’ve discovered our escape, all right,” said Jack, “but
don’t venture to chase us toward the town.”
“That’s it, I reckon,” said Coyote Pete, “and in any event, with our
horses we could outdistance them all with a mile start.”
“All of them except that big black of Ramon’s,” said Jack.
“Guess you’re right,” agreed Coyote, “I’d like to know if there air
any relatives of that animal hangin’ around. I’d buy ’em if it bust me.
You don’t meet up with a bit of horseflesh like that every day of your
life.”
An hour later, without any incident worthy of mention having
occurred, they clattered through the sleeping town of Santa Anita,
and, as daylight broke wanly, they found themselves outside the
white walls surrounding the princely hacienda of the wealthy Don
Alverado. But if the town was asleep, all seemed to be awake here.
Lights could be seen flashing in the house which stood on a small
eminence some distance from the outer walls.
As they neared the gate of the estate, it flew open and a dozen
horsemen, fully armed, dashed out.
“Surrender, caballeros,” they cried in Mexican, “or we shall kill
you without mercy.”
“Hold your horses,” hailed back Coyote Pete, quite oblivious of
the fact that, in all probability, none of the horsemen understood
that free and easy form of English.
But to the boys’ surprise the cow-puncher’s words were greeted
with a shout of laughter from the advancing ranks, and a fresh
young voice cried:
“Who are you,—for the love of Mike?”
“We are Americans who have brought back the Senorita
Alverado,” cried Pete, and was going on, but his words were
drowned in a ringing cheer. The next minute explanations ensued. It
appeared that the party which had sallied out at their approach was
made up of young American mining engineers, resident in the
neighborhood, who, on hearing of Don Alverado’s loss, had at once
formed themselves into a posse.
 They had been starting out on a hunt for the abductors of the
Don’s beautiful daughter when they heard the advance of our party.
Surmising that it might be the outlaws returning to commit further
outrages, they had concealed themselves and dashed out intent on
capturing or killing the disturbers of law and order.
Their enthusiasm over the news of Senorita Isabella Alverado’s
rescue knew no bounds. Wheeling their horses they dashed off up
the broad drive leading to the house to inform the Don,—who was
anxiously pacing his library,—of the good news. They were followed,
at a more sober gait, by the Border Boys and their party.
“My poor father! He must have known heavy grief in the past few
hours,” breathed the senorita, as they approached the house. Jack
was struck by the unselfishness of the thought. Of herself the
senorita made no mention nor of all that she had endured at the
hands of the outlaws. It was only of her father that she appeared to
think.
Don Alverado, a tall, dignified looking old Spanish gentleman,
with a gray goatee and aristocratically pointed moustaches, stood on
the steps of the porch as they came up. His daughter threw herself
from her mount as they drew close, and rushing into her father’s
arms, was held there for a brief interval. After his first emotion at
recovering his daughter had subsided, Don Alverado bade the
servants take the Americans’ horses, and came forward, warmly
thanking them for their services. It made the boys feel rather
shamefaced to be thanked in such emotional fashion, for the Don
would insist on kissing each of them, and by the time he got through
his face was almost as black as their own sooty countenances.
Then they entered the house where, after they had enjoyed
refreshing baths, a hasty breakfast, but magnificent in its
appointments, was served. In the meantime, Senorita Alverado had
slipped upstairs and donned a clinging gown of black, in the bosom
of which flashed an immense diamond. The boys gazed at the
wearer of the gem with more admiration than at the stone itself. If
Senorita Alverado had looked beautiful in the lone rancho she
appeared absolutely regal now.
 “I see you regarding that diamond with interest, gentlemen,” said
Don Alverado, “it has an interesting history. It was the present to me
many years since of a man who had received it from an Indian
sheep herder. This man, according to my friend, had found a
wonderful cave in some mountain that he called the Trembling
Mountain. My friend tried to get him to give some detail, but the
Indian declared that devils lived in the mountain who would kill him
if they knew he had revealed the secret of their dwelling place to the
outside world; so that except for the fact that there is the stone,—
and you can see for yourselves it is a beautiful one,—I regret I can
tell you no more details. But, even as it is, the diamond is doubly
interesting outside of its intrinsic value on account of its history.”
As the professor made no mention of their own peculiar interest
in the legend of the Trembling Mountain, Jack and the rest said
nothing about it. But, perhaps, all their hearts beat a little faster at
this convincing proof that the strange story of Mr. Stetson’s dead
protege was true.
But it had been a long night and the lads could hardly keep their
eyes open, even their sense of politeness flagging under the leaden
feeling that had come into their eyelids. The Don noted this, and at
once suggested bed. It was high time, too, as the early sun was
already beginning to light up the magnificent grounds about the
place, and the boys felt like regular night owls.
Servants in gorgeous livery escorted each lad to a bedroom
furnished with the gloomy magnificence characteristic of the Spanish
race. But not one of them noted his surroundings as, tumbling into
the deliciously cool, clean sheets and sinking into the downy
mattresses, they dropped into slumber as profound as it was
dreamless.
 CHAPTER XIV.

EL FIESTA.

It was evening before the party reassembled. On arising each

member of our party found, neatly folded upon his bed, a complete
outfit. Investing themselves in which, they felt more like human
beings again. For this kindness the Don would not hear of being
paid.
“It is only a small part of my indebtedness to you,” he declared.
After the evening meal that night, which the boys vowed was a
starlight breakfast, the Don informed them that the next day being a
Saint’s Day and a holiday in the village, he had arranged for a series
of sports of the country and a great fete. This was partly in
recognition of his gratitude at his daughter’s recovery.
“As you are all good horsemen, possibly you may wish to
participate,” went on the Don; “the prizes will be worth competing
for. In the lassoing contest the prize will be a double-cinched saddle
of Cordovan leather, silver mounted. In a novel game called Tilting
the Ring, my daughter has donated as first prize a pair of silver
spurs. The second prize in both events will be bridles fitted with
silver-mounted bits and appendages. There will be other games,
races and so on, but these two contests are the most interesting.”
Of course, this set the boys all agog. Their first rather bashful
feelings at the sumptuousness with which they were surrounded,
vanished, under the stimulus of discussion of the forthcoming
contests. They all, with the exception of the professor, entered for
the Tilting the Ring contest, which will be described later, while
Coyote Pete and Walt Phelps put down their names as contestants in
the lassoing events. Besides these, there were races and jumping
contests, in all of which the boys decided to compete.
The next morning dawned fair and still. Jack, on opening the
leaded sash of his window, gazed with delight at the landscape
below him. Softly rolling hills spread far and near, dotted with park-
like groves of trees. Cattle could be seen in the distance, and Jack
guessed that they were part of the herds controlled by Don
Alverado. At the foot of the hill upon which the hacienda stood, lay
the red roofs and white walls of the village, with its cathedral towers
rising above the green vegetation which picturesquely was
intermingled with the dwellings. Blue smoke ascending into the still
air from the chimneys proclaimed the fact that Santa Anita was astir
early on the day of the Don’s fete.
Breakfast was a merry meal, and the boys gazed admiringly at
the senorita, who looked more beautiful than ever in a white
morning gown with a dewy rose stuck jauntily in her black hair.
“Say, she looks like an old Spanish painting, only more so,”
observed Jack to Ralph, as, leaving Walt and Pete to look after the
stock and the professor to examine the Don’s extensive library, they
sauntered off to view the preparations.
“Seems to me you are taking a lot of interest in old Spanish
paintings, my gallant youth,” chuckled Ralph with a knowing look.
Jack reddened.
“The Don has a whole gallery full of them,” he said, “and
naturally I made comparisons.”
“With the advantage in favor of the living type,” chuckled Ralph;
“say, you’re as easy to see through as a spy glass, and——”
“See here, Ralph Stetson, you shut up or I’ll soak you,” sputtered
Jack, looking rather sheepish over his companion’s raillery.
Ralph deemed it prudent to change the subject.
 “They certainly do things in style here,” he said, gazing in
admiration at the scene of busy preparation which was going
forward on the level fields at the base of the hill on which the
hacienda was situated. Jack agreed with him. Already a big force of
men was at work roping off a course for the sports, and decorating
the poles in the national colors.
At one end of the course several peons were erecting a rather tall
pole with a swing cross-bar affixed to the top. From this cross-bar
depended a cord to which was attached a ring by a snap
contrivance. At the other end of the bar hung a heavy bag filled with
sawdust. This was for the game of Tilt the Ring, as they were to
learn later. Each contestant was required to pass a lance through the
ring so skillfully as to remove it from the snap bolt. If he did not
succeed it was obvious that the bag of sawdust would swing around
and deal him a blow before he could get out of its reach.
“Looks like a bully game,” opined Jack, after the two boys had
asked some questions of an English-speaking peon, “but what
happens to you if the sack hits you?”
“Maybe stick on. More maybe you fall off,” grinned the man.
“Humph,” grunted Ralph, “I don’t know so much about that
game. Looks pretty strenuous to me.”
Soon after, they visited the stables where Coyote Pete and Walt
already were. Coyote had his lariat out, stretching it and getting it
supple and ready for the afternoon’s test, for the sports were to
commence after the midday meal. Walt was rubbing the knees of his
horse with care. Firewater and Petticoats,—for Ralph had given his
new pony the old name,—whinnied as Ralph and Jack entered, and
their glowing eyes and shiny coats showed that they were in fine
fettle. In a stall by them stood the horse they had appropriated from
the outlaws. It was a fine beast, somewhat heavy, perhaps, but
strongly limbed and sinewed.
“I’ll bet Ramon would give a lot to have that horse back,”
observed Jack, gazing at the beast admiringly.
 “Yes, considering that we chose him in the dark and in such a
hurry, I don’t think we made a bad choice,” was Walt’s rejoinder.
The boys ate sparingly at noon day, despite the variety and
splendor of the dishes set before them. They felt that they were the
representatives of America at the games, and that it would not do to
risk a tummy-ache or any other uncomfortable feeling. Ralph,
however, eyed the various dishes longingly, having, as we know, a
fastidious appetite. But Jack’s whispered, “You’re in training,” was
enough to keep him to the agreement they had made before
luncheon.
“I will have your horses saddled for you and brought round,” said
the Don, after the conclusion of the meal. He was preparing to give
the order to a servant when Jack interposed.
“Without meaning any discourtesy, Don Alverado,” he said, “we
would rather saddle up Ourselves. You see——”
“Say no more, say no more. It shall be as you wish,” said the
Don, but it was plain to see that he was rather nettled over the
Americans’ independence.
“You see,” Jack explained to his chums later, as they wended
their way to the stables, “the lower orders of Mexicans have no love
for Americans, and they are capable of putting up any tricks on us. I
don’t say that they would, but then again it’s best to be on the safe
side.”
A chorus of assent greeted this. It did not take long to saddle up,
the necessary trappings being among the gifts which Don Alverado
had insisted on showering on the saviors of his daughter. The party
had protested that they were well able to pay their own way, but the
Don would not hear of it.
“We do not treat our guests thus, in Mexico,” he said, “and you,
of course, know that the hospitality of the old dons of Spain was
proverbial.”
The Americans made a fine-looking cavalcade as they rode at an
easy trot down to the field where the contests were to be held. All
wore sombreros, held under the chin by a strap of rawhide. Riding
trousers of the loose, Mexican style, red sashes and short jackets
completed their attire. It was in fact only by their clear, cleanlooking
skins and erect bearing that you could have told they were not of
the Spanish race.
A large crowd had already gathered when they reached the
“lists,” as the scene of the contests might be called. People came in
costly carriages with great C-shaped springs, in humbler vehicles,
and in back-country burro carts. From the town a great procession
streamed out on foot, and everywhere there were Caballeros
dashing about on fiery horses, riding with the reckless abandon of
the Mexican horseman.
“We’re up against a likely looking lot of horsemen,” said Ralph, as
they came in full view of the gay scene.
“We’ll have to do our best,” said Jack simply, “the more skilled
our opponents are, the more credit it will be to us to defeat them if
we can.”
In a corral some distance off were the cattle that were to be
used in the lassoing contests. A curious crowd was gathered about
them expatiating on their good points. All at once a band broke out
into the Mexican national hymn as the Don and his daughter,
accompanied by a party of guests, rode up to their seats in a small
stand, protected by a striped awning, placed immediately opposite
the tilting ring apparatus.
“Gee whillakers, it’s hard to believe that we’re in the twentieth
century, ain’t it?” asked Coyote Pete, as he gazed about him.
“It’s like Don Quixote,” cried Ralph, quite carried away by the
shifting pictures of color and life on the greensward about them.
“Donkey who?” inquired Coyote Pete, whose reading in the
classics had not been extensive.
“Oh, a certain old gentleman in Spain whose specialty was going
about rescuing beautiful maidens and getting into trouble.”
“Wall, that seems to be us,” observed Pete dryly. “But look, the
Don is announcing the first contest. It’s the race to the town and
back agin, carrying a letter to the city hall, or whatever they call it,
and returning with an answer. Whoever makes the best time wins a
fine horse blanket and a silver-mounted quirt. Any of you boys in it?”
“No, I want to keep my mount fresh for the tilting,” said Jack.
“Same here,” announced the others.
They watched the contest with interest, however. It was won by
a small Mexican on a wiry little animal who sped into the town and
back in seemingly incredible time. As soon as he could escape from
the congratulatory crowd, the wiry little horse was spurred toward
where our friends stood in a group waiting for their contests to be
announced.
“For you I have the letter,” he said, as he rode up and extended a
bit of paper.
“A letter for us. Impossible!” exclaimed Jack. “Who could have
sent it?”
“It’s addressed ‘Senor Jack Merrill,’ sure enough,” cried Ralph,
“and the address is printed, too.”
“Somebody trying to disguise his hand,” commented Jack, taking
the note. “Well, let’s see what it is, any how.”
The note was only folded and when opened proved to contain
but a few words, but those words were fraught with meaning.
“Be on the lookout to-day. You are in great danger.”
“Well, what do you know about that!” exclaimed Coyote Pete. “Is
it a genuine warning, I wonder, or jest a trick to keep us out of the
contests?”
“Hard to say,” rejoined Jack. “Where’s that little Mexican who
brought it?”
But the man on the wiry little horse had vanished and a diligent
search by the adventurers failed to disclose him.
 CHAPTER XV.

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.
 Jack swept by in a cloud of dust and transfixed the ring.

“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.