enge, as he spoke.

"Can I help?" asked Patches anxiously, as he viewed the powerful beast,
for this was the first full-grown animal needing attention that he had
seen in his few days' experience.

"No," returned Phil. "Just keep in the clear, that's all. This chap is
no calf, and he's sore over his scrap. He's on the prod right now."

It all happened in a few seconds.

The cowboy's horse, understanding from long experience that this
threatening mark for his master's riata was in no gentle frame of mind,
fretted uneasily as though dreading his part in the task before them.
Patches saw the whirling rope leave Phil's hand, and saw it tighten, as
the cowboy threw the weight of his horse against it; and then he caught
a confused vision--a fallen, struggling horse with a man pinned to the
ground beneath him, and a wickedly lowered head, with sharp horns and
angry eyes, charging straight at them.

Patches did not think--there was no time to think. With a yell of
horror, he struck deep with both spurs, and his startled, pain-maddened
horse leaped forward. Again he spurred cruelly with all his strength,
and the next bound of his frenzied mount carried him upon those deadly
horns. Patches remembered hearing a sickening rip, and a scream of fear
and pain, as he felt the horse under him rise in the air. He never knew
how he managed to free himself, as he fell backward with his struggling
mount, but he distinctly saw Phil regain his saddle while his horse was
in the very act of struggling to its feet, and he watched with anxious
interest as the cowboy forced his excited mount in front of the bull to
attract the beast's wicked attention. The bull, accepting the
tantalizing challenge, charged again, and Patches, with a thrill of
admiration for the man's coolness and skill, saw that Phil was coiling
his riata, even while his frightened horse, with terrific leaps, avoided
those menacing horns. The bull stopped, shook his head in anger over his
failure, and looked back toward the man on foot. But again that horse
and rider danced temptingly before him, so close that it seemed he
could not fail, and again he charged, only to find that his mad rush
carried him still further from the helpless Patches. And by now, Phil
had recovered his riata, and the loop was whirling in easy circles about
his head. The cow-horse, as though feeling the security that was in that
familiar motion of his master's arm, steadied himself, and, in the few
act