BY FAIR MEANS OR FOUL.
A bugle note cut short their search. It proclaimed that the start of
the tilting contest was at hand. The boys, accordingly, rode up to the
stand where the senorita handed each of them and the other contestants
a sharply tipped lance decorated with white, green and red, the
national colors.
They were then informed of the rules of the contest, which were simple.
Each contestant was allowed twenty-five tries at the rings, and the
one gaining the greatest number of points was to be the winner. A blow
with the sawdust bag was to count one point off. As the Don finished
announcing the rules, the Mexicans gave a yell and a flourish of their
lances and galloped off to the starting point.
Jack, Ralph and Walt saluted with a wave of their hats and flourish of
their lances, and then headed off after them. Their little display of
gallantry caused quite a murmur of admiration to run through the crowd.
This was increased to enthusiasm when it was seen how easily and well
they sat their active little horses.
“Diablo! Those Gringoes can ride!” exclaimed more than one Mexican in
evident amazement that any American could sit on a horse at all.
At the starting line the lads dismounted, as they did not wish to
impose any more exertion than was necessary upon their ponies. Leaning
their lances against the ropes of the course, they gave themselves over
to studying intently the methods used by the tilters, some of whom were
old hands at the game, or so one would judge by the confidence they
displayed.
“By George, those fellows are doing magnificently,” Jack had to
admit, as one after another the Mexican contestants dashed down the
human-fringed lane and neatly transfixed the ring without bringing the
heavy sack around.
The next instant a roar proclaimed that one victim had been struck,
and peering down the course the boys could see the one who had failed
galloping off, shaking his spear angrily, while his hat hung all awry
on his head from the force of the blow the sack had dealt him.
But while everybody was still laughing at the mishap, and addressing
all kinds of jocular remarks to the victim, Jack suddenly turned around
as he heard a peculiar noise behind him. He was glad he had done so,
for as he faced about the figure of a Mexican slipped away in the
crowd. The fellow had been standing by the group of lances assigned
to the Americans. With a few quick steps Jack reached the implements
and found that an attempt had been made to saw one of them through in
the middle. The rascal who had attempted the trick, however, had been
detected so quickly by Jack’s vigilance that he had not had time to do
much more than scratch the tough ash handle.
“Guess I’ll take charge of those lances,” said Jack to himself, and he
proceeded to do so.
The next minute Walt was summoned to take his turn, and leaped into the
saddle with a bound. Jack handed him a lance, making no mention of what
he had discovered, for he had no wish to make his chum nervous.
Down dropped the starter’s flag, and off dashed Walt down the lane of
faces, his mount going like the wind. As he neared the post he crouched
and drove his lance, as he thought, straight for the ring. But alas!
he hit the arm of the tilting apparatus and around came the sawdust
bag, hitting the Border Boy a blow on the head that almost knocked him
out of the saddle. A chorus of yells and jeers that made Walt’s ears
burn, greeted his failure. He was much downcast, as he rode back to the
starting place to await his turn to try again.
Ralph came next and fared no better than Walt. But he was more
easy-going about it.
“Guess I’ll do better next time,” he shouted to the laughing Mexicans,
none of whom understood him.
Now came Jack. On account of his mount,—little Firewater,—he perhaps
attracted more attention than the others. At all events, a great ripple
of sound swept like a wave through the crowd as he dashed down the
lists. But as the Border Boy neared the ring and couched his lance for
the tilt, a sombrero was hurled from the crowd, striking Firewater
full in the eyes and causing him to stop and swing with an abruptness
that would have sent a less practiced rider flying, and perhaps have
caused him serious injury. But if this had been the intent of the man
who hurled the hat, it failed, for Jack kept his seat almost without a
perceptible shifting.
“A hundred pesos to the man who finds and captures that scoundrel!”
shouted the Don angrily. “Senor Merrill, come here.”
Thus summoned to the stand, Jack became the center of all eyes.
[Illustration: Jack swept by in a cloud of dust and transfixed the
ring.]
“That was an outrage, senor, for which I apologize to you in the name
of my country,” said the Don, his voice quivering with real chagrin.
“Oh, it was cowardly!” cried the senorita, clasping her hands
impulsively.
“Most probably it was the act of some irresponsible person,” declared
Jack, unwilling to give his host more pain.
“He shall suffer for it if he is caught,” was the rejoinder; then
turning to one of the officials of the course, the Don told him to
announce that Jack would try again.
This time a roar of genuine surprise went up as Jack swept by in
a cloud of dust and transfixed the ring as deftly as any of his
predecessors.
“Bravo!” cried the Don, “and shame on any of my countrymen who will not
say likewise.”
This had its effect on those within hearing of the Don, but on
the outskirts of the crowd, where the lower element of the town
predominated, low hootings and expressions of dissatisfaction were
heard.
On the next round several of the Mexicans failed, but Walt, Ralph and
Jack each got one of the rings. This placed Jack and the three Mexicans
who had succeeded on an even basis.
The crowd began to shout encouragement to its representatives. One of
them, a tall fellow on a splendid horse, turned to Jack as they stood
awaiting their turns once more.
“A bet of twenty pesos on the Mexican team, senor,” he said.
“I don’t bet,” rejoined Jack, “but I hope the best man wins.”
The Mexican, with a glance of contempt, replied:
“Peste! You are only boys. Mocho chico. What chance have you to win?
You had better withdraw before you are covered with shame by your
failure.”
“Guess we’re not worrying,” rejoined Jack easily, “but it’s your turn,
senor.”
“So it is. Behold, and you shall see with what ease I will get zee
ring.”
He thundered confidently off. Alas, for the caballero’s hopes! It is
true that he “got it” in one sense, but instead of getting the ring he
got the bag with a force that sent his sombrero spinning into the crowd.
“Not so easy as it looks, eh?” laughed Jack, as the discomfited Mexican
came riding back with a black frown on his face.
“Santa Maria, it was my horse’s fault,” he declared, “the brute is no
good. He is a beast; what you Gringoes call a ‘skate.’”
He began spurring the animal savagely, making the poor creature jump
and caper about in its agony.
“I wouldn’t do that, senor,” said Jack quietly, but with a gleam in his
eyes. “By the way, we’ve a proverb in our country that might interest
you.”
“A proverb,—bah! what is it?”
“Why, they say a bad workman always complains of his tools,” rejoined
Jack, looking the other straight in the eye. “Think it over.”
Before the other could reply it was Jack’s turn once more, Walt and
Ralph both having scored failures. Once more the Border Boy succeeded,
thus getting one point ahead of the rest. On the next round, however,
he missed the mark, while the three Mexicans still in the contest all
scored.
“You see,” said the tall Mexican, “we can easily, if we will, prevent
you Gringoes from scoring at our national games.”
“By fair means?” replied Jack.
“By any means, senor,” was the reply, “all is fair in love and war.”
“Guess I’ll keep an eye on you,” thought Jack to himself.
With varying fortunes the game went on till two rounds from the
concluding one only Jack and two Mexicans were left in the game. Walt
and Ralph had dropped out in favor of Jack when they saw that they
were too far behind to catch up. The scores of all three, the Mexicans
and the Border Boy, were now even, and the excitement was extreme. No
cheers or any other sounds were to be heard now. In intense silence
the crowd watched every move.
The next bout found them still on even terms. Now came the last, with
everyone fraught up to a tense pitch of excitement. It had ceased to
be a game of tilting the ring. It was a contest for the supremacy of
Mexico at one of her favorite games.
“Now, Jack, old chap, no misses,” cried Ralph from the crowd.
“Go in and win, old boy. You can do it!” came from Walt.
Jack said nothing, but in his heart was a determination to get that
ring at any cost but that of fair play. The tall Mexican now regarded
the Border Boy with open looks of enmity. He made no attempt to conceal
his hatred of the young American boy who had made the best horsemen in
Sonora look to their laurels.
But Jack paid no attention to the fellow, concentrating all his
attention on his lance, to see that it was in fit condition for the
crucial test.
The tall Mexican was the first of the trio to dash off.
Yells, almost prayers, of encouragement implored him to transfix the
ring. But just as he couched his lance his horse stumbled, and before
he could regain his stride the prize was gone so far as that contestant
was concerned. Next came his compatriot. But ill fortune followed him,
too. In some unknown manner his aim, which had proved unerring, now
failed him at the test, and he struck the ring with a jangling clink
but failed to dislodge it.
Bang! Around came the sand bag, knocking him almost off his horse,
which he had imprudently reined up, in his chagrin.
Now came Jack’s turn. That lad would not have been human if he had not
felt a slight trace of nervousness as he settled himself in his saddle
and prepared for the word. Amid a breathless silence it came.
“Yip-ee-ee-ee!”
The cowboy yell broke from the throats of Walt and Ralph. It was the
only sound but the clattering of Firewater’s hoofs as he rocketed
down the course. But the next instant Bedlam broke loose as Jack’s
lance entered the ring cleanly and removed it from its snap without a
hitch. Howls and a few cheers filled the air, but the former by far
predominated. But amid the confusion there came a sudden sound that
abruptly halted the babel.
Three shots sounded out sharp and clear. At the same instant Jack, who
had just reined in Firewater, was seen to reel from his saddle and fall
apparently helpless to one side of it.