wild jumps--whirling forward and sidelong
leaps, interspersed with frantic plunging and rearing. Gowan looked
on, agape with amazement. The tenderfoot stuck fast on his flat little
saddle and only once pulled leather. Rocket was not a star bucker, but
he had thrown more than one half-baked cowboy.

Finding that he could not unseat his rider, the beast suddenly gave
over his plunging, and bolted at furious speed down the smooth slope
towards Plum Creek. Before they had gone half a furlong Ashton
realized that he was on a blooded horse of unusual speed and a
runaway. He could not hope to pull down so tough-mouthed a beast with
his ordinary curb. The best he could do was to throw all his weight on
the right rein. Unable altogether to resist the steady tug at his
head, the racing horse gradually swerved until he was headed across
the mesa towards the jagged, snow-streaked twin crests of Split Peak.

Horse and rider were still in the curve of their swift flight when
Isobel Knowles came out into the porch, yawning behind her plump,
sunbrowned hand. A glance at Gowan cut the yawn short. She looked
alertly afield and at once caught sight of the runaway.

"Kid!--O-oh!" she cried. "Mr. Ashton!--on Rocket!"

Gowan spun about to her with a guilty start, but answered almost
glibly: "You said he could ride, Miss Chuckie."

"He'll--he'll be killed!--Daddy!"

Knowles stepped out through the doorway, cocking his big blue-barreled
Colt's. Gowan hastily pointed towards the runaway. Knowles looked, and
dropped the revolver to his side. "What's up?" he growled.

"Kid--he--he put Mr. Ashton on Rocket!" breathlessly answered his
daughter.

"Sorry to contradict you, Miss Chuckie," said Gowan. "He put himself
on."

"He's on yet," dryly commented the cowman. "May be something to that
boy, after all."

"But, Daddy!--"

"Now, just stop fussing yourself, honey. He and Rocket are going
smooth as axlegrease and bee-lining for Stockchute. How did the hawss
start off?--skittish?"

"Enough to make the tenderfoot pull leather," said Gowan.

"If he stuck at all, with that fool saddle--!" rejoined Knowles.
"Don't you worry, honey. He sure can fork a hawss--that tenderfoot."

"Oh, yes," the girl sighed with relief. "If Rocket started off
bucking, and he kept his seat, of course it's all right. See him take
that gully!"

"You sure gave me a start, honey, calling out that way.--Well, Kid,
it's about time we were off. I'll get my hat."

G