while he told of some new and undreamed bit of cussedness in his pet.

On this day, Glory was behaving beautifully. True, he had nearly
squeezed the life out of Weary that morning when he went to saddle him
in the stall, and he had afterwards snatched Cal Emmet's hat off with
his teeth, and had dropped it to the ground and had stood upon it; but
on the whole, the Happy Family regarded those trifles as a good sign.

When Bert Rogers and Weary ambled away down the dusty trail to the
starting point, accompanied by most of the Flying U boys and two or
three from Bert's outfit, the crowd in the grand-stand (which was the
top rail of the stockyard fence) hushed expectantly.

When a pistol cracked, far down the road, and a faint yell came
shrilling through the quiet sunshine, they craned necks till their
muscles ached. Like a summer sand-storm they came, and behind them
clattered their friends, the dust concealing horse and rider alike.
Whooping encouraging words at random, they waited till a black nose
shot out from the rushing cloud. That was Flopper. Beside it a white
streak, a flying, silvery mane--Glory was running! Happy Jack gave a
raucous yell.

Lifting reluctantly, the dust gave hazy glimpses of a long, black body
hugging jealously close to earth, its rider lying low upon the
straining neck--that was Flopper and Bert.

Close beside, a sheeny glimmer of red, a tossing fringe of white, a
leaning, wiry, exultant form above--that was Glory and Weary.

There were groans as well as shouting when the whirlwind had swept past