The young Beau Brummel hung up his hat and cane, sank into the easiest
chair in the room, and selected a cigarette from a gold-initialed case.

"At your service, sir," he said languidly.




CHAPTER II

WILD ROSE TAKES THE DUST

"Wild Rose on Wild Fire," shouted the announcer through a megaphone
trained on the grand stand.

Kirby Lane, who was leaning against the fence chatting with a friend,
turned round and took notice. Most people did when Wild Rose held the
center of the stage.

Through the gateway of the enclosure came a girl hardly out of her
teens. She was bareheaded, a cowboy hat in her hand. The sun, already
slanting from the west, kissed her crisp, ruddy gold hair and set it
sparkling. Her skin was shell pink, amber clear. She walked as might
a young Greek goddess in the dawn of the world, with the free movement
of one who loves the open sky and the wind-swept plain.

A storm of hand-clapping swept the grand stand. Wild Rose acknowledged
it with a happy little laugh. These dear people loved her. She knew
it. And not only because she was a champion. They made over her