-n-no you don't."

"Let me have that rope, I tell you. I'll attend to the pinto for you."

"Here, give it to me," ordered Jim Nance, reaching for the rope which
Tad Butler had taken.

"I can handle him, Mr. Nance."

The "handling" was not easy. Tad was hauled over the best part of an
acre of ground ere he succeeded finally in getting an opportunity to
cast his own rope. When, however, he did make the cast, the rope
caught the pinto by a hind foot, sending the stubborn little beast to
the ground. Then Tad was jerked this way and that as the animal
sought to kick the foot free.

"Grab the neck rope some of you," he cried.

Nance was the first to obey the command. It was the work of but a
moment temporarily to subdue the pinto.

"Take him back. We don't want the critter," ordered the guide.

"I---I want him," declared Stacy, limping up to the former sleepy
beast.

"I'll break him so I guess Stacy can ride him," said Tad. "Ned, will
you fetch my saddle and bridle? I can't let go here just yet. Has
this fellow ever been ridden?" demanded the boy, looking up at the owner.

"I reckon he has, but not much."

"Why did you let Brown rope the pinto, then?"

"He said he wanted him."

"Let him up," directed Tad. The mustang had another spell, but ere
he had finished his bucking Tad had skillfully thrown the saddle on
and made fast the saddle girth at the risk of his own life. Next came
the bridle, which was not so easily put in place. It was secured at
last, after which the lad stepped back to wipe the perspiration from
his face and forehead. Dark spots on his khaki blouse showed where
the sweat had come through the tough cloth.

"Now I'll ride him," Butler announced.

For the next quarter of an hour there followed an exhibition that won
the admiration of all who saw it. All the bucking and kicking that
the pinto could do failed to unseat Tad Butler. When finally he rode
back to the group, Mr. Mustang's head was held straight out. Once more
the sleepy look had come into his eyes, but it was not the same crafty
look that had been there before. He was conquered, at least for the
time being.

"Now, Chunky, you may try him."

"What do you think of that for riding?" demanded Stacy, turning to
the guide.

"Oh, he'll ride one of these days," answered the guide.

"I believe you're a grouch," snorted the fat boy, as he swung into the
saddle, quickly thrusting his toes into the stirrups, expecting to