d the shore.

Turning his head he caught a glimpse of Nash sitting calmly in his
saddle, holding the rope in both hands--and laughing. The next instant
he saw no more, for the current placed a taller rock between him and the
bank. On that rock the line of the lariat caught, hooking the swimmers
sharply in toward the bank. He would have cut the rope, but it would be
almost impossible to get out a knife and open a blade with his teeth,
still clinging to the tail of the swimming horse with one hand. He
reached down through the water, pulled out the colt, and with an effort
swung himself about. Close at hand he could not reach the rope, and
therefore he fired not directly at the rope itself, but at the edge of
the rock around which the lariat bent at a sharp angle. The splash of
that bullet from the strong face of the rock sliced the rope like a
knife. It snapped free, and the brave little mustang straightened out
again for the far shore.

An instant more Bard swam with the revolver poised above the water, but
he caught no glimpse of Nash; so he restored it with some difficulty to
the holster, and gave all his attention and strength to helping the
horse through the water, swimming with one hand and kicking vigorously
with his feet.

Perhaps they would not have made it, for now through exhaustion the ears
of the mustang were drooping back. He shouted, and at the faint sound of
his cheer the piebald pricked a single weary ear. He shouted again, and
this time not for encouragement, but from exultation; a swerving current
had caught them and was bearing them swiftly toward the desired bank.

It failed them when they were almost touching bottom and swung sharply
out toward the centre again, but the mustang, as though it realized
that this was the last chance, fought furiously. Anthony gave the rest
of his strength, and they edged through, inch by inch, and horse and man
staggered up the bank and stood trembling with fatigue.

Glancing back, he saw Nash in the act of throwing his lariat to the
ground, wild with anger, and before he could understand the meaning of
this burst of temper over a mere spoiled lariat, the gun whipped from
the side of the cowboy, exploded, and the little piebald, with ears
pricked sharply forward as though in vague curiosity, crumpled to the
ground. The suddenness of it took all power of action from Bard for the
instant. He stood staring stupidly down at the dying horse and then
whirled, gun in hand