It was a strange company, and one that appealed considerably to the curiosity of the Pony Rider Boys.

The early part of the day was given over to racing, roping, gambling and other sports in which the lads were content to take no part.  But there was an event scheduled for the afternoon that interested Tad more than all the rest.  That was a tilting bout, open to all comers.  A tilting arch had been erected in the middle of the main street, and had been decorated with flags and greens.

The tilting ring, suspended from the top of the arch, was not more than an inch in diameter.  The horseman who could impale it on his tilting peg and carry the ring away with him the greatest, number of times, would be declared the winner.  Each one was to be given five chances.

The prize, a pair of silver spurs, was to be presented by the belle of the town, a dark-eyed señorita.

The guide had entered Tad in this contest; but, as the lad glanced up at the ring only an inch in diameter, he grew rather dubious.  He never had seen any tilting, and did not even know how the sport was conducted.

Kris Kringle gave the lad some instructions about the method employed by the tilters, and Tad decided to enter the contest.

Only ten horsemen entered, most of these being either Mexicans or halfbreeds.

The first trial over, five of the contestants had succeeded in carrying away the ring.

Tad had waited until nearly the last in order to get all the information possible as to the way the rest of the contestants played the game.  A pole had been loaned to him, or rather a “peg,” they called it, eight feet long, tapered so as to allow it to go through the brass ring for fully two feet of its length.

The Pony Rider boy took his place in the middle of the street, and without the least hesitancy, galloped down toward the ring, which, indeed, he could not even see.  When within a few feet of the arch he caught the sparkle of the ring.

His lance came up, and putting spurs to his broncho, he shot under the arch, driving the point of the peg full at the slender circle.  The point struck the edge sending the ring swaying like the pendulum of a clock.

A howl greeted his achievement.  Tad said nothing, but riding slowly back, awaited his next trial.

The rule was that when one of the contestants made a strike, he was to continue until he failed.  He would be allowed to run out five points in succession if he could.

“Rest the peg against your side, and lightly,” advised a man, as Tad turned into the street for another try.  The man was past middle age, and, though dressed in the garb of a man of the plains, Tad decided at once that he was not of the same type as most of the motley mob by which he was surrounded.

The lad nodded his understanding.

With a sharp little cry of warning, the boy put spurs to his pony.  He fairly flew down the course.  No such speed had been seen there that day.  The northern bronchos that the boys were riding were built for faster work and possessed more spirit than their brothers of the desert.