Merriwell had secured a cane, round whose center he wrapped a white handkerchief to make it more conspicuous.
“I want Gene Skelding to throw this cane whirling through the air in that direction!” he requested, indicating the direction. “Let him throw for both Bludsoe and Higgins.”
Skelding flushed and colored. Merriwell had made some of the throws, and Skelding had been claiming that the throws made by Merry for Bludsoe were not as fair and easy as those made for Higgins.
He would have backed out, but the sophomores pushed him forward, and he took the cane from Merriwell’s hand, and sent it spinning end over end, as directed.
This was one of the most difficult roping-feats that could have been chosen, for the object was to put the noose of the lasso over the flying cane, and so bring it down.
Bludsoe’s noose struck the whirling cane, but simply sent it on faster.
Then there were shouts for Higgins, and he rose in all his cowboy dignity.
“Gents, I ain’t a-sayin’ that I’m goin’ to do this, but I’m goin’ to try. I reckon I couldn’t do it every time with the best rope ever strung acrost a floor. But I’m goin’ to try!”
Skelding saw that Merriwell was watching him closely and that the eyes of others were on him, so that, in spite of his desire to make an unfair toss, he did not dare to.
The wrapped cane flew out again, a whirling white streak, and Higgins’ rope shot after it. He had nerved himself to make the throw of his life, and he made it. The stiff hemp rope swept through the air with the sinuosity of a serpent, and the noose, dropping over an end of the cane, brought the cane to the floor.