Red Gulch was jammed with visitors even at such an early hour. The town was decorated with flags; bands, playing slightly off key, marched up and down the streets. Cowboys in big hats and high-heeled boots lounged in the doorways of buildings calling out friendly greetings to passers-by. Indians from nearby reservations added to the crowd.
At the entrance of the Fairgrounds Connie parted with her friends. While she went to the rodeo barn to look over the horses. Lefty and Alkali wandered toward the arena. Immediately an official hailed them.
“I can use you boys,” he said. “I want you to keep everyone except rodeo officers, performers and owners out of the ring.”
Lefty and Alkali leaped the fence and strolled about observing the fast-gathering throngs that swarmed into the terraced tiers of the wooden grandstand. Men in charge of the day’s activities hustled about on horseback, calling orders, while a group of starters and judges conferred at the distant end of the arena.
Suddenly Lefty’s eyes were arrested by the sight of Pop Bradshaw talking with Forest Blakeman near the arena fence. An intriguing idea flashed into his mind. What could be sweeter than for Pop to be among those immediately present when Catapult magically appeared in place of the steer which he believed had been substituted?
“Come on in. Pop,” he called. “We want you in here to see that Catapult gets a square deal.”
The idea delighted the crowd. The old man hesitated but friendly hands seized and boosted him over the fence.
Connie, who understood the prank which the cowboys were playing on Pop, felt rather sorry for him. But she had no sympathy for Forest Blakeman. He was swaggering about the arena, his attitude proclaiming that already he had been named the champion bulldogger.
As Connie stood by the fence, Jim Barrows sauntered over. After making a few casual remarks he fell silent, but the girl noticed that his gaze followed Blakeman almost constantly.
“Your foreman reminds me of someone,” he said thoughtfully.