e up to the animal, he attempted to run the panther down. The animal
merely snarled and gave ground, while gradually Panchito "hazed" him
until the frightened creature was headed at right angles to the course he
had originally pursued. And now Don Mike, urging the pinto to top speed,
came racing up and cut him off.

"Catch him; catch him!" Kay screamed excitedly. "Don't let him get
away!" She drove Panchito almost on top of the panther, and forced the
beast to stop suddenly and dodge toward the approaching Farrel. As
Panchito dashed by, Kay had a glimpse of Don Mike riding in, his looped
riata swinging in wide, slow concentric circles--casually, even. As she
brought Panchito round on his nimble heels, she saw Don Mike rise in his
stirrups and throw.

Even as the loop left his hand, he appeared to have no doubt of the
outcome, for Kay saw him make a quick turn of his rope round the pommel
of his saddle, whirl at a right angle, and, with a whoop of pure,
unadulterated joy, go by her at top speed, dragging the panther behind
him. The loop had settled over the animal's body and been drawn taut
around his loins.

Suddenly the pinto came to an abrupt pause, sliding on his haunches to
avoid a tiny arroyo, too wide for him to leap. The strain on the riata
was thus momentarily slackened, permitting the big cat to scramble to all
fours and turn to investigate this trap into which he had fallen.
Instantly he charged, spitting and open-mouthed, and, for some unknown
reason, Farrel led the screaming fury straight toward Kay and Panchito.
The cat realized this, also, for suddenly he decided that Panchito
offered the best opportunity to vent his rage, and changed his course
accordingly. Quick as he did so, Farrel whirled his pinto in the
opposite direction, with the result that the panther left the ground with
a jerk and was dragged through the air for six feet before striking
heavily upon his back. He was too dazed to struggle while Farrel dragged
him through the grass and halted under a lone sycamore. While the badly
shaken cat was struggling to his feet and swaying drunkenly, Farrel
passed the end of his riata over a limb, took a new hitch on his pommel,
and ran out, drawing the screaming, clawing animal off the ground until
he swung, head down, the ripping chisels on his front paws tearing the
grass up in great tufts.

The pinto, a trained roping horse, stood, blown and panting, his feet
braced, keeping the rope tau