the rougher country now, where the road wound
through a narrow cut in one of the bluffs along the creek, when a
beat of hoofs ahead and the sharp neighing of horses made the ponies
start and Eric rose in his stirrups. Then down the gulch in front of
them and over the steep clay banks thundered a herd of wild ponies,
nimble as monkeys and wild as rabbits, such as horse-traders drive
east from the plains of Montana to sell in the farming country.
Margaret's pony made a shrill sound, a neigh that was almost a
scream, and started up the clay bank to meet them, all the wild
blood of the range breaking out in an instant. Margaret called to
Eric just as he threw himself out of the saddle and caught her
pony's bit. But the wiry little animal had gone mad and was kicking
and biting like a devil. Her wild brothers of the range were all
about her, neighing, and pawing the earth, and striking her with
their fore feet and snapping at her flanks. It was the old liberty
of the range that the little beast fought for.

"Drop the reins and hold tight, tight!" Eric called, throwing all
his weight upon the bit, struggling under those frantic fore feet
that now beat at his breast, and now kicked at the wild mustangs
that surged and tossed about him. He succeeded in wrenching the
pony's head toward him and crowding her withers against the clay
bank, so that she could not roll.

"Hold tight, tight!" he shouted again, launching a kick at a
snorting animal that reared back against Margaret's saddle. If she
should lose her courage and fall now, under those hoofs----He struck
out again and again, kicking right and left with all his might.
Already the negligent drivers had galloped into the cut, and their
long quirts were whistling over the heads of the herd. As suddenly
as it had come, the struggling, frantic wave of wild life swept up
out of the gulch and on across the open prairie, and with a long
despairing whinny of farewell the pony dropped her head and stood
trembling in her sweat, shaking the foam and blood from her bit.

Eric stepped close to Margaret's side and laid his hand on her
saddle. "You are not hurt?" he asked, hoarsely. As he raised his
face in the soft starlight she saw that it was white and drawn and
that his lips were working nervously.

"No, no, not at all. But you, you are suffering; they struck you!"
she cried in sharp alarm.

He stepped back and drew his hand across his brow.

"No, it is not that," he spoke rapidl