d
her, his head raised, tail erect, his long horns glinting in the white
sunlight. Randerson knew the signs.

"Good God!" he whispered; "can't she see what that steer is up to?"

It seemed she did, for she had halted and was facing the animal. For an
instant there was no movement in the vast realm of space except the
terrific thunder of Patches' hoofs as they spurned the hard alkali level
over which he was running; the squeaking protests of the saddle leather,
and Randerson's low voice as he coaxed the pony to greater speed. But
Patches had reached the limit of effort, was giving his rider his last
ounce of strength, and he closed the gap between himself and the girl
with whirlwind rapidity.

But it seemed he would be too late. The girl had sensed her danger. She
had caught the stealthy movement of the steer; she had glimpsed the
unmistakable malignance of his blood-shot eyes, and had stood for an
instant in the grip of a dumb, paralyzing terror. She had dismounted to
gather some yellow blossoms of soap-weed that had looked particularly
inviting from the saddle, and too late she had become aware of the
belligerent actions of the steer.

She realized now that she was too far from her pony to reach it in case
the steer attacked her, but in the hope of gaining a few steps before the
charge came she backed slowly, edging sidelong toward the pony.

She gained a considerable distance in this manner, for during the first
few seconds of the movement the steer seemed uncertain and stood,
swinging its head from side to side, pawing the sand vigorously.

The girl was thankful for the short respite, and she made the most of it.
She had retreated perhaps twenty-five or thirty feet when the steer
charged, bolting toward her with lowered head.

She had gone perhaps thirty or forty feet when Patches reached the scene.
The girl saw the blur he made as he flashed past her--he had cut between
her and the steer--so close to her that the thunder of his hoofs roared
deafening in her ears, and the wind from his passing almost drew her off
her balance as amazed, stunned, nerveless, she halted. She caught a
glimpse of Randerson's profile as he swept into a circle and threw his
rope. There must be no missing--there was none. The sinuous loop went
out, fell over the steer's head. Thereafter there was a smother of dust
in which the girl could see some wildly waving limbs. Outside of the
smother she saw the pony swing off for a short distanc