“Well, I ride in the Frontier Day’s celebration that comes on in July at our local fair,” the cowboy said. “Guess if you want to ride in a real contest with me you’d better enter your name and we’ll see how long you last.”
“Very well, I’ll just do that for once and show you a little something about real roughriding,” said Roderick; “and Firefly will be one of the outlaws.”
Turning he limped off towards the bunk house with Whitley.
Whitley was greatly relieved that Roderick, although he had wrenched the tendons of his leg, had no broken bones. A couple of other cowboys mounted their ponies, and with lariats started off across the prairie to capture the outlaw and bring back the saddle. Whitley was assured that they were breaking horses all the time and now and then the boys got hold of an outlaw but no one was ever very seriously injured.
Reaching the lounging room of the bunk house, they learned that Grant was up and dressed. He had evidently gone up to the ranch house and at that very moment was doubtless basking in the smiles of Miss Dorothy.
The college chums, pipes alight, soon got to talking of old times.
“By the way,” remarked Whitley between puffs, “last month I was back at the class reunion at Galesburg and called on Stella Rain.”
Roderick reddened and Whitley went blandly on: “Mighty fine girl—I mean Stella. Finest college widow ever. I did not know you were the lucky dog, though?”
“What do you mean by my being the lucky dog?”
“Oh, you were always smitten in that quarter—everyone knew that. And now those tell-tale flushes on your face, together with what Stella said, makes it all clear. Congratulations, old man,” said Whitley, laughing good-naturedly at Roderick’s discomfiture.