et and danced away from
the unaccustomed crowd. Nevertheless the lad, as impassive as an image,
held him well in hand, awaiting Thorne's signal.

"Go!" called the Supervisor, his eyes on his watch.

The boy, still grasping the hackamore in his left hand, with his right
threw the saddle blanket over the animal's back. Stooping again, he
seized the heavy stock saddle by the horn, flipped it high in the air,
and brought it across the horse with so skilful a jerk that not only did
the skirts, the heavy stirrup and the horsehair cinch fall properly, but
the cinch itself swung so far under the horse's belly that young Pollock
was able to catch it deftly before it swung back. To thrust the broad
latigo through the rings, jerk it tight, and fasten it securely was the
work of an instant. With a yell to his horse the boy sprang into the
saddle. The animal bounded forward, snorting and buck-plunging, his eye
wild, his nostril wide. Flung with apparent carelessness in the saddle,
the rider, his body swaying and bending and giving gracefully to every
bound, waved his broad hat, uttering shrill _yips_ of encouragement and
admonition to his mount. The horse straightened out and thundered swift
as an arrow toward the tree that marked the turning point. With
unslackened gait, with loosened rein, he swept fairly to the tree. It
seemed to Bob that surely the lad must overshoot the mark by many yards.
But at the last instant the rider swayed backward and sidewise; the
horse set his feet, plunged mightily thrice, threw up a great cloud of
dust, and was racing back almost before the spectators could adjust
their eyes to the change of movement. Straight to the group horse and
rider raced at top speed, until the more inexperienced instinctively
ducked aside. But in time the horse sat back, slid and plunged ten feet
in a spray of dust and pine needles, to come to a quivering halt. Even
before that young Pollock had thrown himself from the saddle. Three
jerks ripped that article of furniture from its place to the earth. The
boy, with an engaging gleam of teeth, threw up both hands.

It was flash-riding, of course; but flash-riding at its best. And how
the boys enjoyed it! Now the little group of "buckeroos," heretofore
rather shyly in the background, shone forth in full glory.

"Now let's see how good you are at packing," said Thorne, when the last
man had done his best or worst. "Jack," he told young Pollock, "you go
up in the pasture and ca