Just as he was about to drive at the ring, some one uttered a wild yell and a sombrero hurled from the crowd, struck Tad fairly across the eyes.
Of course he lost, and, for a moment, he could not see a thing. He pulled his pony to a quick stop and sat rubbing and blinking his smarting eyes.
A howl of disapproval went up from the spectators. None seemed to know whether the act had been inspired by enthusiasm or malice. Tad was convinced that it was the latter. His face was flushed, but the lad made no comment.
"You are entitled to another tilt," called the scorer.
To this the Mexican objected loudly.
"Under the circumstances, as my opponent objects, and as we all wish to prevent hard feelings, why not give him a chance as well? If he wins I shall be satisfied."
A shout of approval greeted Tad's suggestion. This was the real sportsman-like spirit, and it appealed to them.
The proposition was agreed to. But again the Mexican lost.
"If the young man is interfered with this time, I shall award the prize to him and end the tournament," warned the scorer.
Though Tad's eyes were smarting from the blow of the sombrero, he allowed the eyelids to droop well over them, thus protecting them from the dust and at the same time giving him a clearer vision.