With the next party that arrived at the ranch was a mother and her two daughters, and one or more females continued to come in with every party that appeared after that.
By eleven o’clock in the forenoon several hundred people had assembled, and the “tenderfeet” were not backward in entertaining the prettiest of the girls who were there.
A big picnic dinner was served, and all the guests received something to eat.
The sports were to begin immediately after dinner, but the cowboys had amused themselves during the forenoon by numerous tricks and games of their own, besides telling stories and discussing the remarkable youngster from the East who had ridden Firebrand.
Indian Charlie held aloof. He was still angry and had not given over his determination to “fix” Frank.
“He will take a hand in the sports this afternoon,” thought Charlie. “Then my time will come. He had better look out!”
He did not wish to injure Frank in an underhand way, but he had found the boy from the East could more than take care of himself when given a fair show.
“If I had not seen that Sadie Rodney is stuck on him, I don’t know as I should care so much,” thought Charlie.
He tried to chat with Sadie, but she shunned him, which simply added to his rage. Then he watched for his chance to find her alone.
“I wish to speak with you, Sadie,” he said, hurrying to her side.
“Miss Rodney, if you please,” she said, rather sharply.
“Oh, all right!” grated Charlie. “You have permitted me to call you by your given name at times in the past.”
“I may have permitted it without being at all pleased by such familiarity.”
“Something has happened to change you,” he grated, “and I know what it is.”
“You used to think I was not such a bad fellow.”
“Perhaps I did not know you as well as I know you now.”
“It was not that. You did not know some one else.”
“Yes, you did not know this tenderfoot with the swelled head.”
“Who is the tenderfoot with the swelled head?”
“Oh, I don’t know! He seems to be all right.”
Charlie twisted one end of his black mustache into his mouth and began to chew it in a savage manner.
“Frank Merriwell is something surprising for a tenderfoot,” he admitted; “but you had better keep away from him.”
“Yes, really. It will be better for him.”