Bellefonte, Pa., November 8, 1929
INDIAN BLANKETS
Sumac fires are burning brightly,
Ruby-red the embers glow,
Indian council fires rekindled
From the ash of long ago;
And the wind’s a runner passing
With his feet in deerskin shod,
And a chief’s tall feather tosses
In the dusty goldenrod.
Wild grapes ripen in the thicket,
_ Purple asters edge the stream,
And the braves to earth returning
By the moon's enchanted beam
Hang their red and yellow blankets
On the windy maple bough
‘When the frosty night is over,
For it’s Indian summer now.
mentee fp eerste.
THE TIE THAT BINDS
As Tom Crosby rolled westward
from New York in the same box car
with his four roping horses he was
for the first time in his life, lonely;
it had dawned upon him suddenly
that he had no friends.
And that was true. The men of
his closely circumscribed world cn
the rodeo circuit might smile at him,
talk with him, eat and drink with
him and appear to be friendly, but—
they were rot his friends. ir his pro-
fession he was vastly superior to
them all; in events where he and
Bart Eaton were entered, these al-
leged friends knew that Tom and
his former partner stood between
them and the big money provided
their luck held.
Secretly they hated him, and
when in liquor many of them had
admitted it and been thrashed for
their pains. Indeed, Tom had fought
many a dirty rough-and-tumble bat-
tle in defense of Bart Eaton’s honor
and now, with a lump in his throat
he recalled that the prodigal and
temperamental Bart had fought as
many in his defense.
He wondered what Bart’s plans
for the future might be. Their cas-
ual and strained parting had occur-
red just after the show at Madison
Square Garden. Bart had been
crowned the champion roper of the
world, noting which the Honorable
Cecil Scott-Enderly, a sporty gentle-
man from the Argentine, had in-
formed Mr. Eaton that the latter
could not. under three minutes, rope
and hog-tie a Ilama. Furthermore,
he had offered to bet any amount of
money he was right, and had strip-
ped Bart of his last dollar. In fact,
Bart had had to sell his roping
horses to Tom for a road stake.
Tom Crosby fell to picturing his
next meeting with Bart on the cir-
cuit—the embarrassment and pain
of it. Suppose old Bart should ask
him for the use of one of his horses?
Mounted on any one of Tom’s horses,
Bart might conceivably beat the
horse’s owner to first money in the
roping events. Tom decided he would
not under any circumstances, rent
one of his horses to Bart.
Well, he had discovered a new
facet of Bart’s character. Bart
could be jealous. But Tom had erred
in demonstrating that he knew rop-
ing tricks of which Bart had never
heard; at last, deep in his heart,
Bart had been made to realize that
Tom Crosby was his master.
“I sure strained the old cuss too
‘
far” Mr. Crosby ruminated. “I'd
ought to have knowed better.
Many’s the time I could have beat
him out for first ropin’ money but
when I seen we had first an’ second
money cinched I'd work slow an’let
him win first to make the sucker a
drawin’ card.
“Ain't Bart got no sense? The
way him an’ me have traded cham-
peenships an’ the number we've won,
you'd think he ought to suspect they
weren't all naturals. I reckon old
Bart’s conceited thataway.”
Well, that was all water over the
dam, Mr. Crosby decided. When next
they met in action it woud be. each
man for himself and the devil take
the hindmost. Bart was a better
roper than any other man in the
United States or Canada with the
exception of Tom Crosby, who led
him by a nose as it were; and Mr.
Crosby, who possessed much profes-
sional pride but no ego, knew that
this was so.
Coldly and resolutely, therefore, he
resolved to take from Bart Eaton
every championship he, Tom Crosby,
had ever permitted his partner to
possess. “I was good to him,” Tom
told himself sorrowfully, “an’ he
treated me ike a bum. Now Til!
make a bum out o’ him.”
He met Bart at the Livermore
Rodeo the following Fourth of July.
Now, during seven of his eight years
of partnership with Bart Eaton, Tom
Crosby had resolutely refused to do
any bulldogging, because of the haz-
ardous nature of that sport. How-
ever, at the Livermore show, when
Bart entered for the bulldogging,
Tom entered the lists also, merely to
compete with Bart. to beat the lat-
ter out of the final money if he could.
He stopped his first steer and dec-
orated him in nine-and-a-quarter
seconds, whereat the crowd cheered
him wildly. No other contestant re-
motely approached that record and
Tom won first final money, while
Bart was not even in the final mon-
ey.
Ya roping Tom made the fastest
time on any one calf; won first day
money three days in succession and
first final money, as a result, and
was proclaimed the best all-around
cowboy in the show.
At Salinas he repeated his Liver-
more performance and removed from
Bart Eaton's brow the crown of
champion roper of the State of Cali-
fornia. At the two-day Ukiah show
he won over Bart in the steer-buck-
ing contest; lost to him in the bull-
dogging; won over him in the buck-
ing-horse riding and in the roping
contests; again’ made the fastest
time on any one calf; won first final
money and was again proclaimed ths
best all-around cowboy in the show.
Nevertheless, Bart was right behind
him. '
At the Stampede in Calgary Tom
suddenly decided to bulldog no more.
He had'a that Bart was due Mr. Ea Hy Ls aw wih
to hurt he wanted to s A y the midriff with
poe enjoy ‘the spectacle. And or. Se. Eaton coutitebdd’ with left
Bart was hurt. A peevish big Brah-
ma steer threw him to the ground,
dragged him and walked on him,
28d Bart had to be carried off the
els
He had no bones broken, but he
was badly bruised—so much so that
subsequently when he drew a medi-
ocre bucking horse, he was forced
Io Lv leather Ssprac oen d iy in order
0 on until the pick- Jen :
could ma ey -
fected his roping, also, although
Tom would have been in second
money, had he been riding one of
his own old horses.
Bart's spirit must have been brok-
en a little, for when he reported at
the chutes to rope his first calf and
found Tom there, holding the two old
horses that had carried him to vic-
gory a happier days, he choked and
om thoug] e was going to cry.
After a while he addressed the Ty
ter for the first time since they had
parted in New York.
“How about rentin’ me ol’ Shiny,
Tom?” he half pleaded. “Usual
terms. Third o’ what I ‘win; nothin’
o’ what I lose.”
Tom merely stared coldly at him,
so Bart rented a half-broken Cana-
dian horse that carried wide with him
and was afraid of the rope. He made
no time to speak of. Later Tom
caught him petting his old horses, |
looking at their feet, inspecting
their teeth, running‘ his hands over
their ribs to test their condition,
crooning to them.
That year Tom occupied the old
room at the Pallister Hotel which he
and Bart had reserved year after
year. He ascertained that Bart was
holed up in a fifty-cent rooming
house and the news tickled him won-
drously. y
He noted also, with satisfaction,
that Bart, whose sombreros had al-
ways been the wonder and the envy
of his fellows (he paid as much as
a hundred and fifty dollars for
them), was now wearing a worn old
hat that could not have cost him
more than ten dollars. His silver-
mounted spurs were gone, too; a
rusty “old steel pair had replaced
them. His shirts were now cotton
instead of silk and he rolled his own
cigarets, although for eight years
he had luxuriated in “tailor-mades.”
All in all, it seemed to Tom, his
enemy was considerably decayed
financially.
At the Pendleton Round-up, Tom
again exerted himself to top the
show. He was second in bulldog-
ging, while Bart was not even in the
money. He was first in bronco rid-
ing and Bart was second; he was
second in steer riding and Bart was
third; he was first in roping while
Bart was second; he won first final
money and proclaimed champion
roper and best all-around cowboy of
the Northwest.
At Billings he again “wiped Bart's
eye” and became champion roper
and best all-around cowboy of Mon-
tana. He was the heaviest winner
and first in roping at Cheyenne,
where Bart was third in roping, hav-
ing lost to a new man by a fraction
of a second.
At Cedar Rapids Tom knew he
had broken Bart's spirit. Nothing
succeeds like success—and Bart's
mind was obsessed with memories of
defeats. Slowly, inexorably, Tom
had given him an inferiority com-
plex. The lack of his old horses was
a handicap he could not overcome,
with the result that when the Chey-
enne show closed Bart was regarded
as a good man who was deteriorat-
ing rapidly.
He no longer heard through the
loud-speaker such phrases as, “Keep
your eye on Chute Number Five.
Bart Eaton, of California—cham-
pion of champions—coming out on
Tornado!” or, “Time on the last calf
thirteen seconds flat. Made by Bart
Eaton, of California, champion rop-
er of the world.” It was Tom Cros-
by who was the idol of the public
now, monopolizing the honors he had
once so generously shared with Bart
in days agone. There was no let-
down in Tom’s work. If possible he
was better than he had ever been.
Now, albeit Tom Crosby had plan-
ned to sell at Calgary the two rop-
ing horses Bart had formerly own-
ed he suddenly decided not to do so
after seeing Bart looking his lost
treasures over that day. He made
up his mind to carry them with him
from show to show, to torture Bart
with their presence around the
chutes. They were well-known
horses and greatly in demand; in-
deed, their rentals almost paid the
expense of their fodder and trans-
portation.
At Cedar Rapids, as Tom was
loa the horses into a box car,
Bart strolled by and paused to
stroke the silky noses of the only
two living things that loved him.
They had seen him first and nick-
ered for him, and at this evidence of
undying allegiance Bart’s heart was
wrung with misery. Out of the
corner of his eye Tom watched the
lost partner’s lip tremble a little,
saw a slight film come over his eyes.
“Tom,” said Bart presently, “you
don’t need these two horses an’ they
cost you more to carry around with
you than they earn. I'd like to buy
them back from you.”
Tom Crosby strangled a sudden
mad impulse to give the horses to
Bart, to shake him by the hand and
call him er again, to ask him
to let bygones be bygones, to ask
him to come on to the Garden show
as his partner and again be pro-
claimed champion roper of the
world. Instead he replied:
“They'll cost you fifteen hundred
dollars. I got to have a profit!”
“Sold!”
” Mr. Crosby reminded him.
“You'd be the last man on earth
I'd ask credit from,” Bart flared
back at him, and added, as he count-
ed out the money and prepared to
lead the horses “away, “You dirty
Shylock!”
Instantly Mr Crosby hated him-
self for his softheartedness. He
wished now that he had cut those
horses’ throats before selling them
back to Bart. The fellow was dirty
beyond words and sweet Christian
thoughts were absolutely wasted on
him. + Muttering three words of one
syllable each, Mr. Crosby leaped
own from the box car and struck
they clinched. Coming out of the
clinch, each sent a sizzling “haymak.
er” toward the other's jaw; ‘the
pulites: died simultaneously.
Vhen Bart Eaton regained con-
sciousness, the first thing he saw
was Mr. Crosby, flat on his back,
arms and legs outspread, his eyelids
fufiorig Sue
* “Double - knock-out,” Mr. Eaton
murmured hazily. “If there was a
purse up on that event we'd sure
have split it!”
He was gone with his horses be-
fore Mr. Crosby came to; and since
there was none hard by to inform
ee ums 02
/ th’ he ged to himself, with
considérable Ny the belief that
Bart had thrashed him. Decidedly,
that was no help!
The Garden show was productive
of its average dividend to’ Tom Cros-
by, but when it was over he did not
return directly to California. He
had heard of a show in
Juarez, Mexico, that appealed to the
last drop of artistic blood in his
veins, and thither he slipped.
The show in question was to be an
international roping contest under
the auspices of the Charros Club of
Juarez. There are numerous Char-
ros Clubs throughout Mexico, nota-
bly in Mexico City, and the sole ex-
cuse for their existence isto promote
the art of roping, raise it to new
artistic levels and demonstrate, by
frequent contests, that the art is
not retrograding.
A Charros Club contest is not one
in which peons compete. It is sacred
to the Mexican rancheros—a gentle-
man’s sport, like fox-hunting.
Now, when a Mexican promotes a
party he never does it on the cheap.
scale. His gesture must be magnifi-
cent; otherwise it would never occur
to him to make it. And in a Charros
Club composed of magnificoes, the
promotion of an international rop-
ing contest was bound to transcend
all previous events in roping history.
Tom Crosby's eyes fairly popped
as he read the anouncement, the list
of prizes and the rules.
To begin, the show was the last
six days and competition was open
to any roper who could afford to
pay an entrance fee of two hundred
and fifty dollars. (“That'll keep the
peons out,” Mr. Crosby "grinned, “an’
let the topnotchers in. Good! We
won't be crowded an’ have our time
wasted by amateurs. The man who
puts up that much money for the
privilege of competin’ just naturally
knows he’s good.”)
There was to be no day money. In
the final money, first prize was five
thousand, second three thousand,
third one thousand. The contest for
the first three days called for six
two-year-old steers to be roped and
hog-tied by each contestant. The
next two days constituted the semi-
finals, out of which three final con-
testants were to be chosen to com-
pete against one another on the
sixth day. They were to rope twelve
steers each in the semi-finals.
In the finals, each contestant was
to rope and hog-tie twenty-four
aged steers in rapid succession. Af-
ter casting his first steer loose, a
final contestant was allowed two
minutes in which to gather up’ his
reata, test his saddle girths, mount
and be back at his chute waiting for
his next steer to come out.
knew the man who won that would,
indeed, find none so ignorant as to
dispute his claim to the champion-
ship of the world, for in addition to
testing his roping ability to the ul-
timate limit, it would be a supreme
test of his physical stamina.
Mexican and
vaqueros are the best ropers in the
world, he realized that the roping |
contests in which he had for nine
years appeared on the rodeo circuits
would be mere child's play in com. |
parison with the forthcoming contest |
at Juarez. The roping of goats and |
four-months-oid calves at rodeos is,
in the final analysis, no real criterion |
of skill with a reata. One is not,"
as a rule, permitted to give calves
“the bust”, one crawls up the rope
on them, flanks them and ties
them. But it is not possible to flank
a yearling. Yearlings must be giv-
en the bust—thrown so hard that,
dazed and frightened, they are in
no mood to struggle too hard:
against the inevitable. i
Tom Crosby had once roped,
thrown and tied - an eighteen-hun-
dred-pound bull in twenty-six sec-
onds, only to discover he had been
too slow to win even second money.
And he knew full well that in
Juarez he would compete with not
one but a dozen Mexican ropers'
worthy of any gringo’s reata
He arrived in El Paso two weeks
before the show was to commence,
in ‘order to afford his horses a rest
after ‘the trip ‘from New York. A
few days after his arrival he pur-
chased a dozen aged steers, rented
a field and commenced practicing
on them, for at rodeos he had roped
for nine years, almost nothing but
goats and calves—animals he was
not permitted to “bust”—and he
concluded both he and his = horses
would “be ‘the better for a brief
postgraduate’ course on heavier
stoeK.-f11-on
The morning the show started he
was surprised to find Bart Eaton
among the contestants. So this was
Why Bart had abandoned the Garden
show and bought back his two
anid roping horses ! After bigger
e; ‘6h? | The former ' partners
stared at-each other coldly and did
not - speak.
For: threee days Messrs. Crosby
and Eaton roped and tied their six
steers daily; then the record was
cast up and eich discovered he had
been elected to ‘the semi-finals, to-
gether ‘with ten Mexicans.
he fourth day they roped and
tied twelve steers each—and six
Mexicans were eliminated; on the
fifth ‘day the survivors roped and
tied eighteen steers each, and on
Sunday ‘afternoon, the last day of
the contest, Tom Crosby and Bart
Eaton found themselves alone in a
stricken. field with a handsome
blond don, by name Miguel Peralta,
whose average time was four sec-
onds faster than’ Tom's and a
setond faster than Bart's.
+n ternent ran: in Juarez
that night, for Miguel Peralta - was
and right to the Crosby jaw and -
Tom Crosby had no illusions re- 1m figgerin’
garding that drastic final contest. He | they offer me. If I'd topped Peralta
y
AEE
the champion of Mexico, and a
champion in that land of champion
ropers is a champion indeed. And’
‘the fact that two gringos should
run him such a close race augured
well for the sport in the final test.
It would not be a hip ome, buta
battle to a finish, with the issue in
goby until the last steer should be
e CE *
When the standing of the three
final contestants was announced,
Miguel Peralta’s enthusiastic admir-
ers, with Latin impetuousity, lifted
him from his horse and bore him on
their shoulder in triumph to his
hotel, there to toast him in cham-
agne. In their minds there dwelt
no suspicion that the gringos could
possibly defeat him.
Tom Crosby found himself riding
across the International Bridge boot
to boot with Bart Eaton. “Good
‘hombre, that Miguel Peralta,” he
announced casually. “He looks big
enough to stand the physical strain
tomorrow, but I doubt if he’s ever
worked enough in his life to make
him as hard an’ tough as me an’
you. I got a notion he’ll slow up
a little.”
Bart looked at him coldly.
“Excuse me for talkin’ to you,
which I wouldn't do outside the line
0’ business, not even to ask you
for a drink o’ water if I was dyin’
o’ thirst, but I noticed he’s used
the same horse all week.”
“Good horse, you scrub. Big,
active as a cat an’ as good a
ropin’ horse as I ever see. He must
weigh twelve hundred.”
“Got to have a big hoss to hustle
big cow-brutes, Shylock—an’ we
draw aged steers tomorrow. Well,
our horses weigh eleven hundred
an’ they're fresh, on account we've
changed off every day.”
“The last time me an’ you tang-
led,” Mr. Crosby continued without
emotion, “you licked me. I claim a
return engagement after this Char-
ros Club show.”
“I'll accomodate you, Senor. On
Mexican soil. Nobody'll interfere if
we ride out o’ town a bit. Still,”
Bart added, “punchin’ each other
won't settle our hate. I'm for wind-
in’ this thing up Mexican fashion.
One of us had ought to retire for
keeps an’ give the other a free
hand to win a decent pot on the
rodeo circuit -hereafter.”?
“You mean you want to argue it
in the smoke?”
Bart Eaton nodded. “I'll play
you fair. At noon we'll take our
stands at thirty yards with our
backs to each other. An’ at the
first bell o’ the Angelus we face
about an’ commence firin’. We don’t
need no witnesses, an’ the survivor,
if any, drags himself across the
Line an’ keeps his mouth shut.”
“I don’t hate you quite that bad,”
Tom Crosby replied thoughtfully,
but since you insist I reckon Ill
have to accommodate you. Just
means I got to make my will to-
night.”
on your executor makes much o' a
fee out o' your estate, although
you'd ought to win third money to-
morrow. Me, I'm goin’ to win first
money. I didn’t exert myself today
because I didn’t have to; I figgered
on just bein’ in the finals, because
ten thousand Mexicans’ll be bet-
tin’ em as high as a hound’s back
, tomorrow on their champion—an’
to take all the bets
‘today his friends would mebbe be a
- mite cagy with their money tomor-
row.” Thus the Crosby strategy.
“You mean you been just playin’!
with me, too?” Bart Eaton’s face
darkened. :
“There never was a time when I
Because Tom Crosby knew that couldn't take you into camp,only I Which was
Spanish-Californian didn't do it too often in the days down the field. Again his
when we was partners. That
wouldn’t have been good business, |
although you'd never figger why.”
“You're a liar an’ a braggart,
Crosby.”
Tom Crosby urged his horse into
a trot. “This ain't my day for argy-
in” an’ gettin’ myself upset,” he
tossed back over his shoulder. “Me
I want a good night's sleep, which
you won't get, a-thinkin’ an’ a-wor-
ryin’ over that duel we fight to-
morrow after the show's over.”
That night he ate sparingly and
retired early, after a good rubdown
by an expert masseur. He slept
like a baby. Bart Eaton did not
sleep so well, however; the memory
of Tom Crosby’s verbal shafts
harassed him for hours. Was it
true that Tom had been playing
with him and Peralta even as he
had played with Bart in the matter
of that cursed Ilama that had come
between them ?
Of one thing Bart was certain.
He had roped his very best that
day—and Peralta had beaten him.
An old hand, Peralta. Doubtless he
had not unduly exerted himself
either—Well, they couldn't keep
him out of third money, although
third money would leave him with
scarecely any profit, considering
his expenses. He needed that five
thousand first money—there was a
rl
Miguel Peralta had no illusions
as to the quality of the competitors
he was to face on the morrow.
Rich ranchero that he was, the mon-
ey prize meant nothing to him; it
was the glory and honor of winning.
Hence, being a prudent man, he
drank but two quarts of champagne
with his friends and to demonstrate
to them how lightly he regarded
the outcome, he played roulette :n a
local gambling hall until midnight
and then. retired. He awoke th
a bad headache and was just a trifle
stale when his first steer came out
of the chute at one o'clock next
day. 1
The moment Peralta had leaped
clear of his steer and thrown his
arms aloft, Bart Eaton's steer raced
out of the chute; as Bart signaled
his tie, Tom Crosby's steer came
out. Bart was riding back to his
chute as Tom made his cast—and
for the second time in all his rop-
ing ‘experience he saw’ his enemy
make ' the figure-eight loop; he saw
the steer go into it, and a second
later pile up in a heavy somersault
and lie still. .
“That throw sure jars ’em,” Bart
reflected. “It takes the fight out
o' ’em’ an’ they tie easy.”
ment of Tom’s time, but that it had
been far faster than Peralta’s he
He added spitefully: “I don’t reck- :
He did" not hear the announce- |
te
judged by the wild cheers that
broke from the gringo element in
the grand stand. The Mexicans
were silent. oo
The show ran like clockwork. The -
handlers at the chutes were efficient; .
the judges active as the steers.
Steer after steer Tom Crosby put
his figure-eight loop on and somer-
saulted—cruel throws but effective,
since the harder he “busted” them
the more time he saved in tying.
Each time he stood erect and waved
his arms wild cheers in English
greeted his performance, and Bart
noted that no gringo cheers greeted
his own efforts.
“Third money sure,” he solilo-
quized bitterly, “unless I can beat
Peralta out for second.” He observ-
ed that, after the first steer, the
Mexican contingent no longer cheer-
ed Peralta; wherefore Bart knew
Tom was beating Peralta’s time,
steer for steer. The latter's com-
patriots were grieving for their
champion and the money they had
wagered on him!
As Bart's sixth steer crossed the
dead line, Mr. Eaton made a mighty
resolve to tie this one a second
quicker than the last. His horse
settled with unerring precision over
the steer’s horns, even as he flipped
the bight of his reata over the steer’s
right side and around his haunches
and tied hard and fast to the pom-
mel.
As his horse leaped forward to
the left of the steer to deliver the
“bust,” the steer unexpectedly turn-
ed sharply to the right and, al-
though the horse turned him sharp-
ly until he faced to the rear, the
steer did not go down.
But Bart Eaton did not notice
this. Steers almost always run
straight ahead after the cast, and
practically vie with the horse in
giving themselves the “bust”; only
one in a thousand varies this prac-
tice. In anticipation of the regular
routine, therefore, Bart had already
left the saddle, and not until his
horse had passed him did he realize
that on this particular steer he
would do well to make any time at |
all. He must mount again, circle his
quarry swiftly and make certain of :
the “bust.” |
Unfortunately, the steer had other,
ideas on the subject. In Bart Eaton’s
brain a hammer beat: “Time! Time!
Time !” To run after his horse,
mount him on his left side, with '
or without the aid of the stirrup,
would not do. A second—two, per- ;
haps, would be lost that way; so
expert trick rider that he was, he.
did a “Pony Express”—that is to
say, he ran to his horse, placed
both hands on the animal's rump
and vaulted over his tail into the '
saddle. i
And at that moment the steer
struck the horse at the saddle girth, |
lifted ‘him and his rider and rolled |
them in the dirt, while the Mexican '
crowd roared their approval, for
here was work to their liking.
Well, a roper never can make
time ina mixup like that, and the
judges knew it. Tom Crosby was
waiting at his chute. Why delay
him? A judge raised his hand and
out came Tom's steer.
Straight down the field; as. Tom
passed Bart Eaton lying quietly in
the dirt, he saw Bart's steer back
off about five feet, then lower his
head for another thrust at the
scrambling, screaming horse.
In the fifth of a second Tom's loop
was around the beast’s head; he
swung his horse, rode around the
rear of the mad brute to avoid
throwing him on Bart and the lat-
ters’ horse, “busted” him, tied him,
remounted, coiling his reata as he
did so and took after his own steer,
now jogging sedately
figure-
eight loop dropped; thirty seconds
later he stood erect.
Time! He had made time! His
limit was one minute; beyond that
the judges would have scored him
“No time!” And he had roped Bart's
steer and his own in fifty-eight
seconds. x
As he came loping back up the
field to his chute, the crowd, Mexi-
can and gringo, rose to their feet
and cheered him madly. And then
the judges stopped the show, al-
though, in gringo terminalogy, it
was really Tom Crosby who had
stopped it!
For five minutes the crowd shout-
edina frenzy of appreciation; they
demanded his presence closer, so at
a sign from the presiding judge
Tom leaped his horse over the five-
foot woven wire fence that separat-
ed the grand stand from the roping
field, and rode along at the foot of
the grand stand, doffing his som-
breno, while the women pelted him
with flowers.
An evil five minutes for Senor
Miguel Peralta, that, for he had
ceased to be a hero with his own
people. Tom Crosby noted the dark
look of envy and jealousy on the
man’s face as he passed him, nor
did Peralta acclaim him in the
slightest. “He’s not got his mind on
his job now,” Tom exulted.
Alongside the fence in front of his
own chute, Bart Eaton was squat-
ting, as Tom rode up. He was foul
with the dirt of the field and white
of face. “Thanks for savin’ Shiny,”
he said to his enemy. “He's bruised
but he ain't badly gored. I was
usin’ ‘a double rig an’ the cinches
saved him. I'm sorry to have low-
ered your time.”
“No trouble to make it up,” Mr.
Crosby retorted blithely “You
hurt any?”
“Left shoulder out, that’s all
Just enough hurt to put me out ©’
the contest.”
“Puts you out o’ third money,
too. Accordin’ to the rules, any
contestant that don’t finish can’t
share in the purse an’ the remainin’
conestants split it fifty-fifty. You
don’t seem to have no luck, do you,
Mr. Eaton?”
“The luck runs that way for a
, while an’ then gets worse. But don’t
, waste your ‘sympathy on me. Look
after yourself.” This ain't no par-
lor game you're playin’. The un-
expected can happen an’ generally
does. :
| “You keep your eye on that
, Mexican. The judges are Mexicans
an’ won't ve you none of the
| breaks.” “While they was pickin’ me
up I heard two of 'em say your fig
ger-eight loop was ‘goin’ to be barred
‘Club owns the steers
| condition and fast.
somersault an’ most likely break:
some of 'em up. ' The 'Charros
an’ they ain'{
figgerin’ on havin’ you tie dead o:
crippled steers in this contest.”
“I knew they'd stop me as soon as
they could work up a legitimate ex.
cuse but I've roped six steers tha
way an’ beaten Peralta’s time fiw
to ten seconds per steer. That’
money in the bank, Mr. Eaton. Yes
sir, in our profession time is cer
tainly money.”
Then his next steer came out anc
the conversation terminated. A doc
tor came over to Bart Eaton’s chut:
and snapped his dislocated shoulde:
into place; whereupon, because i
was against his code to admit pain
Bart mounted his spare horse and sa
him with apparent unconcern
watching the battle between hi
enemy and Miguel Peralta.
As Bart had predicted, Ton
Crosby’s figure-eight loop was out
lawed; whereupon the contest im
mediately took on new interest
Peralta roped as he had never rop
ed before. He was magnificent
Tom Crosby was magnificent, toc
but fast and accurate as he was
Peralta was faster. Steer by stee
he cut down Tom’s time by a sec
ond, two seconds, a fraction of
second; anu once, when Tom Crosb
missed and had to resort to his sec
ond rope, Peralta snipped ten sec
onds off his competitor's early lead
After the eighteenth steer, how
ever, the pace began to tell o
Miguel Peralta. Thereafter he neve
beat Tom Crosby by more than
second and as steer after steer cam
out his margin of victory dwindlzc
He was tiring, blinded with dus
and sweat, consumed with appeher
sion and anger as he felt himse)
failing under the terrific strain.
As he finished tying his twenty
third steer the judges gave him hi
average time on all of them. H
as two seconds behind Tom Cros:
y.
His twenty-fourth —and last-
steer was a thin, gaunt animal the
had to be whipped out of the chut:
He lumbered leisurely across tk
dead line; ten feet beyond it Peralta
loop settled over his horns; he we
tied in twenty-eight seconds fla
Proud, happy, confident, alread
flushed with victory, Peralta ca:
his steer loose climbed aboard h
horse, backed up to the fence ar
waited to see Tom Crosby's ste
come out.
Bart Eaton also watched To
Crosby’s last steer come out; i
deed, for some little time he hs
watched the attendants in Tom
chute torturing the animal. Ti
steer was a four-year old, a buck-sk
longhorn, sinewy, in the pink «
He came out
the chute with the speed of a bi
leaving its nest, but fast as he cam
Tom Corsby, mounted on a fre:
horse now, was within casting di
tance of him three seconds after |
crossed the dead line.
And then the thing occurred f
which Bart Eaton had prayed. J
Tom’s horse leaped to the purst
something dropped from the sadd
It was Tom Crosby's tie rope, whi
following the custom of his profe
sion, he carried tucked into his be
The instant Bart Eaton saw it dr
he knew what it was; realized, tc
that Tom Crosby was not aware
its loss and would not be until t
moment when, kneeling on his fi
len steer, he should reach for
with one hand while withthe oth
he drew the dazed steer’s feet
ward him.
There could be but one answer
that devilsh “break.” It is a cc
testant’s business to make certs
he has his tie rope; if he loses
that is just too bad and the judg
score against that steer reads: I
time .” :
“Licked ! Ruined! Lost!” Bs
Eaton yelled. “You've bet your ba
roll on yourself an’ you're bustec
Then he sunk the rowels in his ho
and fled down the field after !
enemy, just as Tom gave his ste
the “bust.” Bart saw him les
the saddle while his horse was s
running; saw the steer roll over, s
Tom Crosby on top of him; s
him turn, gaze around him blankly
A tie rope, hurled by Bart,
scended upon him as Mr. Eat
flashed by. He grasped it in mid-:
tied his steer and leaped erect.
“Twenty-three seconds flat,” ca
the verdict of the timekeepers—:
then things commenced to happ
With the knowledge that the gri:
had won but only because anot.
gringo haa thrown him his tie r«
after he had dropped his own,
populace commenced y
blasphemously to protest the
sion.
They swarmed out of the gr:
stand and onto the field; they s
rounded the judges; shrieks, shot
curses, frenzied protests from th
who had lost their money bett
on Miguel Peralta prevented
judges from being heard, until 1}
a dozen Mexican police arrived
the scene to preserve order. i
when at last it was possible to h
Bart Eaton did the talking.
“I was settin’ my horse in fror
my chute when I saw Crosby ride
to his chute for his last steer.
his horse swung him in toward
fence his tie rope, hangin’ at
side, caught on a projectin’ nail
was all but pulled out o’ his bel
“I've read the rules o’ this con
carefully an’ there’s nothin’ in
to prevent anybody from loanin’
tie rope to a contender. Why?
tell you. On his twentieth s
Senor Peralta decided his tie 1
was gettin’ frayed; he concludec
oughtn’t to trust it, an’ as I
out o’ the contest he borrowed nt
just before his twenty-first s
came out. If I can loan him a
rope durin’ the contest I gues:
can. I had Peralta’s old tie rop
my belt an’ flung it to ' Crosby.
“If there’s any question to
cide, that question is: At v
exact moment in a ropin’ conte
it permissable to loan a contes
a tie rope? The rules don't c
that point.”
That was not a hard nut for
judges to crack, but it was a 1
unpleasant one, for, owing to:
imminence of a riot, they would!
liked ‘to rile in favor of their-
countryman, had there existed
the slighest precedent for rulii
his favor. But since there wasj
{
de
| on account it gives the steers-.a
(Concluded on Page 8, Col -2)