tired immigrants, men and horses equally weary of their interminable
journey. Through all this motley assemblage, threading her way with the
skill of an accomplished rider, there galloped Lucy Ferrier, her fair
face flushed with the exercise and her long chestnut hair floating out
behind her. She had a commission from her father in the City, and was
dashing in as she had done many a time before, with all the fearlessness
of youth, thinking only of her task and how it was to be performed. The
travel-stained adventurers gazed after her in astonishment, and even
the unemotional Indians, journeying in with their pelties, relaxed their
accustomed stoicism as they marvelled at the beauty of the pale-faced
maiden.

She had reached the outskirts of the city when she found the road
blocked by a great drove of cattle, driven by a half-dozen wild-looking
herdsmen from the plains. In her impatience she endeavoured to pass this
obstacle by pushing her horse into what appeared to be a gap. Scarcely
had she got fairly into it, however, before the beasts closed in behind
her, and she found herself completely imbedded in the moving stream of
fierce-eyed, long-horned bullocks. Accustomed as she was to deal with
cattle, she was not alarmed at her situation, but took advantage of
every opportunity to urge her horse on in the hopes of pushing her way
through the cavalcade. Unfortunately the horns of one of the creatures,
either by accident or design, came in violent contact with the flank of
the mustang, and excited it to madness. In an instant it reared up upon
its hind legs with a snort of rage, and pranced and tossed in a way that
would have unseated any but a most skilful rider. The situation was full
of peril. Every plunge of the excited horse brought it against the horns
again, and goaded it to fresh madness. It was all that the girl could
do to keep herself in the saddle, yet a slip would mean a terrible death
under the hoofs of the unwieldy and terrified animals. Unaccustomed to
sudden emergencies, her head began to swim, and her grip upon the bridle
to relax. Choked by the rising cloud of dust and by the steam from the
struggling creatures, she might have abandoned her efforts in despair,
but for a kindly voice at her elbow which assured her of assistance. At
the same moment a sinewy brown hand caught the frightened horse by
the curb, and forcing a way through the drove, soon brought her to the
outskirts.

"You're not hurt, I hope