r.

"Hurray!" yelled Pratt, swinging his hat.

He was riding recklessly himself. He had seen a half-tamed steer roped
and tied at an Amarillo street fair; but _that_ was nothing like
this. It had all been so easy, so matter-of-fact! No display at all
about the girl's work; but just as though she could do it again, and yet
again, as often as the emergency arose.

Frances cast a glowing smile over her shoulder at him, as she lay back
in the saddle and let Molly hold Old Baldface in durance. But suddenly
her face changed--a flash of amazed comprehension chased the triumphant
smile away. She opened her lips to shout something to Pratt--some
warning. And at that instant the grey put his foot into a ground-dog
hole, and the young man from Amarillo left the saddle!

He described a perfect parabola and landed on his head and shoulders on
the ground. The grey scrambled up and shot away at a tangent, out of the
course of the herd of thundering steers. He was not really hurt.

But his rider lay still for a moment on the prairie. Pratt Sanderson was
certainly "playing in hard luck" during his vacation on the ranges.

The mere losing of his mount was not so bad; but the steers had really
stampeded, and he lay, half-stunned, directly in the path of the herd.

Old Baldface struggled to rise and seized upon the girl's attention. She
used the rope in a most expert fashion, catching his other foreleg in a
loop, and then catching one of his hind legs, too. He was secured as
safely as a fly in a spider-web.

Frances was out of her saddle the next moment, and ran back to where
Pratt lay. She knew Molly would remain fixed in the place she was left,
and sagging back on the rope.

The girl seized the young man under his armpits and started to drag him
toward the fallen steer. The bulk of Old Baldface would prove a
protection for them. The herd would break and swerve to either side of
the big steer.

But one thing went wrong in Frances' calculations. Her rope slipped at
the saddle. For some reason it was not fastened securely.

The straining Molly went over backward, kicking and squealing as the
rope gave way, and the big steer began to struggle to his feet.

CHAPTER VIII

IN PERIL AND OUT

Pratt Sanderson had begun to realize the situation. As Frances' pony
fell and squealed, he scrambled to his knees.

"Save yourself, Frances!" he cried. "I am all right."

She left him; but not because she believed his statement. Th