wboys nor Pony Riders were looking his way.

No one knew of his plight.

As he felt the line running through his hand, Tad Butler had given it a
quick hitch around his right wrist, so that when the rope drew taut, and
the pony braced itself to meet the shock, the lad fairly flew through
the air.

The white steer had been headed for the mixed bunch which the Pony
Riders were guarding. With the stubbornness of its kind, it wheeled
about the instant it felt the tug on the rope and dashed for the main
herd, Tad's body ploughing up the dust as he trailed along at a fearful
pace behind the wild animal, whirling over and over in his rapid flight.

The lad's eyes were so full of sand dust that he was unable to see where
he was going. He had slight realization of the peril that confronted
him.

"Look! Look!" cried Walter Perkins.

"What is it?" cried Ned Rector.

"What's that the steer is dragging?"

"I don't know."

"And there's Tad's pony standing out there alone," added Walter.
"You--you don't think Tad----"

"As I'm alive, it is Tad! He is being dragged by the steer. He'll be
killed! Watch this herd, I am going after him!" shouted Ned, putting
spurs to his pony and dashing toward the main herd.

At that moment the white steer, trailing its human burden, rushed in
among the other cattle and was soon lost among them.

Ned did not dare to set up a loud shout of warning for fear of
frightening the cattle. However, he was waving his hat and excitedly
trying to attract the attention of some of the cowmen.

They were too busy to give any heed to him.

Ned drove his pony in among the struggling cattle with no thought of his
own danger.

The cowmen were roping and rushing the stock that did not belong to
them. As it chanced, however, most of them were working at the upper
end, or head of the herd.

The foreman, for some reason, had galloped down the line, casting his
eyes keenly over the herd. Instantly he noticed that something was
wrong, though just what it was, he was unable to decide. Then his eyes
caught the figure of Ned Rector, the center of a sea of moving backs and
tossing horns. The boy was standing in his stirrups still swinging his
sombrero above his head.

It took the foreman but an instant to decide what to do. Wheeling his
pony, he fairly dived into the mass of cattle, lashing to the right and
left of him with his ready quirt, the cattle resentfully shaking
threatening heads at pony and rider and