On the second afternoon, such is effect of rigid winnowing, there were but nine men to ride.  The fellow who had grabbed the saddle horn, together with ten others, stood among the spectators and made caustic remarks about the management, the horses, the nine who were left and the whole business in general.  Andy grinned a little and wondered if he would stand among them on the morrow and make remarks.  He was not worrying about it, though.  He said hello to Weary, Pink and Cal Emmett, and saddled a kicking, striking brute from up Sweetgrass way.

On this day the horses were wickeder, and one man came near getting his neck broken.  As it was, his collar-bone snapped and he was carried off the infield on a stretcher and hurried to the hospital; which did not tend to make the other riders feel more cheerful.  Andy noted that it was the HS sorrel which did the mischief, and glanced meaningly across at Billy Roberts.

Then it was his turn with the striking, kicking gray, and he mounted and prepared for what might come.  The gray was an artist in his line, and pitched “high, wide and crooked” in the most approved fashion.  But Andy, being also an artist of a sort, rode easily and with a grace that brought much hand-clapping from the crowd.  Only the initiated reserved their praise till further trial; for though the gray was not to say gentle, and though it took skill to ride him, there were a dozen, probably twice as many, men in the crowd who could have done as well.

The Happy Family, drawn together from habit and because they could speak their minds more freely, discussed Andy gravely among themselves.  Betting was growing brisk, and if their faith had not been so shaken they could have got long odds on Andy.

“I betche he don’t win out,” Happy Jack insisted with characteristic gloom.  “Yuh wait till he goes up agin that blue roan.  They’re savin’ that roan till the las’ day—­and I betche Andy’ll git him.  If he hangs on till the las’ day.”  Happy Jack laughed ironically as he made the provision.

“Any you fellows got money yuh want to put up on this deal?” came the voice of Andy behind them.

They turned, a bit shamefaced, toward him.

“Aw, I betche—­” began Happy.

“That’s what I’m here for,” cut in Andy.  “What I’ve got goes up—­saddle, spurs—­all I’ve got.  You’ve done a lot uh mourning, now here’s a chance to break even on me.  Speak up.”

The Happy Family hesitated.

“I guess I’ll stay out,” dimpled Pink.  “I don’t just savvy your play, Andy, and if I lose on yuh—­why, it won’t be the first time I ever went broke.”

“Well, by golly, I’ll take a chance,” bellowed Slim, whose voice was ever pitched to carry long distances in a high wind.  “I’ll bet yuh fifty dollars yuh don’t pull down that belt or purse.  By golly, there’s two or three men here that can ride.”

“There’s only one that’ll be the real star,” smiled Andy with unashamed egotism.  “Happy, how rich do you want to get off me?”