Never was a day so looked forward to as the Fourth of July that year, and never did a day seem so long in coming.  The last days of June were checked off one by one on a highly colored calendar suspended against the wall of the bunkhouse, and at last the impatient ranchers tore the June sheet off, or, as Chip put it, “took a month off.”

Saddles were gone over, oiled and polished, and when at last the longed-for day arrived every preparation had been made to celebrate it fittingly.  Everybody on the ranch was up before the sun, and after a hasty breakfast they sallied forth to town.

The three comrades rode with them, and the cowboys surrounded them as a sort of bodyguard.  Mr. Melton was not able to accompany them, as he had some pressing business affairs to attend to, but he had promised to reach town before the running race, which was not to take place until the afternoon, was “pulled off.”

It was a beautiful day and the ranchmen were in high spirits.  They laughed and shouted and indulged in rough horse-play like a crowd of school-boys out for a lark, and the boys did their full share to add to the general gaiety.  The long miles slipped unnoticed behind them, and the sun was not far above the eastern horizon when the party cantered into Helena.

The town was gaily bedecked in honor of the occasion.  The houses were draped with flags and bunting, and in many cases long colored streamers fluttered from the windows and roofs.

The cowboys set spurs to their ponies, and swept down the street like a veritable cyclone.  They met other parties who had just arrived, and exchanged greetings with the many friends among them.  There was an air of merry-making and good-fellowship in the air that was infectious, and everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves.

“They certainly know how to have a good time,” remarked Dick.  “I guess it’s because they have so few holidays that they enjoy them all the more when they do come.”

Along the streets booths were lined, selling anything from a ten-cent pocket knife to a blue-barreled Colts revolver.  The numerous saloons were going full blast, and were doing a profitable business.  Nobody is more of a spendthrift than your true cowboy when he is out on pleasure bent, and the fakirs and saloon-keepers were taking full advantage of that fact.

The party from Melton’s ranch, with the exception of the three boys, lost no time in slaking the thirst occasioned by their ride over the prairie, and then they all repaired to the scene of the first event on the entertainment programme, which proved to be a roping and tying contest.  Chip entered this and narrowly missed winning the prize.

“Tough luck, old timer,” consoled Sandy, “but better luck next time.  You made a good stab at it, anyhow.”

Other events were run off in quick succession, with the excitement running high and keeping everybody at fever heat.  The boys from the home ranch won their share of the honors and a little over, and were proportionately jubilant.  “An’ ef Wilson wins that race this arternoon,” said Sandy, “the boys from the ranch will feel so dawgoned good thet they won’t be able t’ kick about nothin’ fer a year t’ come.”