The Treasure of Hidden Valley

by Willis George Emerson

THERE was great excitement among the bunch of cowboys on the Shields’ ranch when the local newspapers came out with startling headlines and full announcements in regard to the annual frontier celebration. That night every line of the full page advertisements, also the columns of editorial elaborations on the contests and other events, were read aloud to an eager assemblage of all hands in front of the bunk house.

The Dillon Doublejack predicted that this year’s celebration would undoubtedly afford the greatest Wild West show ever witnessed outside of a regular circus display organized as a money-making undertaking. Everything was going to be just the real thing—the miners’ drilling contest, the roping competition, the bucking-broncho features, and so on. More than a score of outlaw horses that had thrown every cow-puncher who ever attempted to ride them had already been engaged. The Doublejack further declared that the tournament would be both for glory and for bags of yellow gold, with World’s Championships to the best rider, to the best bucking broncho buster, to the best trick roper, to the fastest cowpony, and to the most daring and lucky participant in the bull-dogging of wild steers.

In the columns of the Encampment Herald special attention was drawn to the fact that in the rough riding and outlaw bucking contest for the world’s championship there was a purse of $1,000 to be divided—$450 for first prize, $300 second prize, $150 third prize and $100 fourth prize, while in addition Buck Henry, the banker, offered a $200 championship saddle to the rider who took first place. It was also announced that the fair association would pay $50 in cash for every horse brought to the grounds that was sufficiently unmanageable to throw every rider; each participant to ride any horse and as often as the judges might deem necessary to determine the winner; chaps and spurs to be worn by the riders, and leather pulling would disqualify.

Both papers referred to the band concerts as a feature of great interest throughout the three days of the fair. Everything was to be decorated in colors—red and green, black and yellow, blue and white, pink and scarlet—from the grandstand down to the peanut boy. The race track was fast and in excellent condition, and everything would be in readiness at the appointed time.

After each item of news was read out there was a buzz of comment among the assembled cowboys, challenges were made, bets freely offered and accepted. As the gathering dispersed Roderick Warfield and Scotty Meisch exchanged significant glances but spoke no word—they had been as strangers to each other ever since their fierce quarrel on the morning of the broncho-busting exercises. Roderick was glad that the day was near at hand when the fellow would be made to eat his words. And with the thought also came thoughts of Gail Holden. Gee, but it would be fine to see her ride in such a contest of nerve and skill!

At last the eventful morning dawned and the people swarmed into Encampment from all the surrounding country. They came from far below Saratoga to the north. The entire Platte Valley from as far south as the Colorado state line and beyond were on hand. In fact, from all over the state and even beyond its confines the whole population moved in to participate in this great frontier day celebration. A crowd came over from Steamboat Springs and brought with them the famous outlaw horse Steamboat, who had never been ridden although he had thrown at least a dozen cowpunchers of highest renown.

When the programmes were distributed, Firefly was found upon the list of outlaw horses, and also to the surprise of many of his friends the name of Roderick Warfield appeared as one of the contestants in both the bull-dogging and bucking broncho events.

It was a veritable Mecca of delight for the miners in their drilling contests and for the cowboys in their dare-devil riding of outlaw horses—testing their prowess and skill in conquering the seemingly unconquerable. The lassoing of fleet-footed and angry cattle, the bull-dogging of wild steers gathered up from different parts of the country because of their reputation for long horns and viciousness, were spectacles to challenge the admiration of the immense throng seated in the grandstand and on the bleachers.

It was just ten o’clock on the morning of the first day when the judges sounded the gong and started the series of contests. The first event was a cow-pony race, with no restriction as to the sex of the riders. Ponies were to be fourteen hands two inches or under. There were seven starters. Up in one corner of the grandstand sat Grant Jones surrounded by a bevy of beautiful girls. Among them of course was Dorothy Shields. All were in a flutter of excitement over the race that was about to be run; for Gail Holden was among the contestants.

Gail Holden, quiet, unassuming, yet full of determination, looked a veritable queen as she sat her pony Fleetfoot clad in soft silk shirtwaist, gray divided skirt, and gray soft felt hat. With a tremor of delight Roderick noticed that she wore on her sleeve as her colors one of his college arm-bands, which he had given her when calling at the Conchshell ranch one evening after the trout fishing expedition.