of the arena, thrown her rope, brought him to the earth.
There the steer lay stretched as pacifically as if he had arranged himself for his afternoon nap, legs extended, head on the ground, the slack barely taken out of the rope. No dust was raised by struggling legs to cut off the view of Miss Goodnight's operations with her hobble. The steer allowed her to bind him with no more resistance than a pet dog.
There were cheers from a certain section of the grand stand where the young lady's partizans appeared to be gathered in force, laughter breaking against the hoarse masculine shouting in rising waves. Texas and Winch stood with watches out, Sallie McCoy on her horse near them so indignant over this dishonest trick that she looked as if she would fight a sack of wildcats.
Miss Goodnight stepped back from her conquest of the steer; the vociferous section of the grand stand lifted a louder cheer, with waving hats. But there was a significant silence in other parts of the crowd, a questioning quietude.
"You beat her anyhow—you beat her to a fare-you-well!" said Winch.
"By seventeen seconds," said Texas, looking up at her openly and boldly for the first time.
