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Page 13
"I reckon they're coming out to give you a send off," answered the
guide.
As they approached, the cowboys spread out and began circling the
galloping Overlanders, yelling, whooping and firing their
revolvers into the air. Now and then one's sombrero would fly off,
whereupon a following cowboy would swing down from his saddle and
scoop up the hat.
Ropes began to wiggle through the air as the western riders sought
to rope each other. They were giving Grace Harlowe a demonstration
of what western roping was, and, as she rode, Grace observed and
enjoyed, as did her companions.
Suddenly a rope darted into the air behind her, and, had she not
seen its shadow, Grace surely would have been caught. Interpreting
that shadow for what it was the Overland Rider threw herself
forward on her pony's neck just as the loop descended. It dropped
lightly on her back, but she was out from under it in a flash,
and, as she sped on, she turned a laughing face to the roper, who
was being rewarded by the jeers of his companions who had chanced
to see him make the cast and fail.
Howling and whooping like a wild Indian, another rider shot
directly across Grace's path, his glee spinning his sombrero as
high in the air as he could throw it, intending to ride under and
catch it. Grace's revolver, the same weapon that she had taken
from Belle Bates, the wife of the bandit of the Apache Trail,
whipped out of its holster in a second. Her first shot at the
spinning hat missed, but her second shot was a hit. She put a hole
right through the crown of the hat.
The whooping and yelling was renewed as the owner of the hat
scooped it up from the ground and held it up for the others to
see. There were two, however, who were taking no interest in the
shooting--the cowboy who had tried to rope Grace, and a companion
who was chasing and trying to rope him in payment for his
unsportsmanlike attempt to cast his lariat over Grace Harlowe's
head.
The two were darting in and out among the racing cowboys and
Overlanders at the imminent peril of running down some one; the
dust was a suffocating, choking cloud except as they rode ahead,
and then only those in the lead were out of the worst of it. The
Overlanders were coughing and perspiring, and the shouting and
shooting at times made conversation well nigh impossible.
"What is this, a wild west show?" cried Elfreda Briggs, riding
toward Grace Harlowe, who was entering into the sport with a zest
that set Hi Lang's head nodding in approval.
"The real wild west, Elfreda. It is not easy to find, but we have
found it in earnest. Oh! Look at that!"
The pursuing cowboy had now roped a hind foot of the pony ridden
by the man who had attempted to lasso Grace Harlowe.
The lariat being attached to the pommel of the thrower's saddle,
the roped pony went down on its nose, violently hurling its rider
to the ground, but the little horse was up in a flash, galloping
away and dragging along the rope which it had jerked free from the
owner's hands and from the saddle pommel.
Not only was it dragging the lasso, but also its cowboy rider,
who, with one foot caught in a stirrup, was being bumped along on
his back over the uneven ground.
Elfreda Briggs, nearest to the fallen cowboy, instantly spurred
her pony after the runaway. She was abreast of it in a moment.
Grasping the bridle of the runaway, Elfreda tugged at it with all
her might in her endeavor to stop the animal, shouting, "Whoa!
Whoa!"
In the meantime, Grace on Blackie was heading for the scene at top
speed, seeking to head off the runaway.
Others also were trying to stop the animal and rescue the fallen
cowboy, but it was Elfreda's race, with Grace following her.
Elfreda was clinging desperately to the bridle of the runaway with
one hand, the other holding fast to the pommel of her saddle, but
despite all her efforts she failed to check the speed of the
runaway, leaning over toward it further and further as the space
between the two ponies widened.
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