"I don't take it as a matter of course, though, not by a long sight,"
said Bert; "many a fellow's got tripped up by being over-confident, and
not waking up until it was too late. I go into anything like that with
the idea that if I don't do my very best I _may_ lose. And then, if a
person does lose a race, that excuse of 'over-confidence' doesn't go a
long way, I've noticed."

"No, it's better to be on the safe side, I guess," admitted Dick. "But
are you going to train at all for this race?"

"Nothing to speak of," answered Bert. "The life we're living these days
keeps a fellow about as fit as he can be, anyway. I feel as though I
could start running at a minute's notice and give a good account of
myself."

They talked over matters in this fashion until they had discussed the
forthcoming event at every angle, and then separated for the night.

From that time on little else was thought or talked of about the ranch.
Even the roping and riding contests were relegated to the background.
News that the Bar Z boys had a promising candidate had been circulated
among the neighboring ranches, and there was almost as much excitement
rife on them as on Mr. Melton's. The cowboys were always questioning Dick
and Tom in regard to Bert's "past performances," and never tired of
hearing his exploits as told by his enthusiastic friends.

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