- 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
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, miss,” said her preserver, respectfully.
She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily.
“I’m awful frightened,” she said, naively; “whoever would have thought that Poncho would have been so scared by a lot of cows?”
“Thank God you kept your seat,” the other said earnestly. He was a tall, savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful roan horse, and clad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his shoulders.
“I guess you are the daughter of John Ferrier,” he remarked, “I saw you ride down from his house. When you see him, ask him if he remembers the Jefferson Hopes of St. Louis. If he’s the same Ferrier, my father and he were pretty thick.”