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Page 9
She continued to apply this treatment for several seconds until
the bronco, goaded to a change of tactics, whirled and started
away at a run, driving straight through the assembled crowd. The
crowd fled for their lives with Grace unable now to do more than
stay on the saddle.
The black had not gone far before he stopped as suddenly as he had
started, stopped stiff-legged, braced himself and slid on his feet
through the alkali for several yards.
Grace Harlowe had been alert for this very thing, but just the
same the suddenness of the move had nearly unhorsed her. As it was
she fell forward on the neck of the bronco, but, recovering
herself before the animal could begin bucking again, she regained
her former position in the saddle and applied crop and spur
vigorously.
The bronco again tried to buck, but under Grace's lively treatment
he gave it up and started to run, and for the next few minutes
pony and rider went like a black streak across the landscape, the
Overland girl giving the pony no time for anything but to travel
as fast as his legs would carry him, until they were a full two
miles from the village.
Grace finally turned him about, without resistance on the pony's
part, and raced for the corral, driving and urging the pony with
crop and word, bound to wear him down and convince him once and
for all that she was his master.
As the Overland Rider came up to the corral now at a jog trot, the
bronco covered with white foam, the cowboys broke loose. Shrill
cowboy yells, whoops and cat calls and a rattling fire of revolver
shots into the air greeted her achievement.
"Grab him, you duffers!" shouted Hi Lang, running toward the
bronco as he saw Grace wavering on her saddle. "Can't you see that
game kid's all in?"
It was only by the exercise of sheer pluck that Grace Harlowe had
held her seat on the saddle throughout that grilling ride. She had
fought and won a battle with an "outlaw" pony that many a hard-
muscled cowboy had fought only to lose. Now that she had
conquered, however, Grace felt weak and dizzy, and the reaction,
she found, was worse than the experience itself.
At Hi Lang's command, half a dozen cowboys had sprung to her
assistance, but it was Hi who held up his arms to help her down.
"Fall over. I'll catch you," he urged.
Grace shook her head and tried to smile.
"I--I think I can make it, tha--ank you," she gasped, freeing her
feet from the stirrups and slipping limply until her feet touched
the ground. For a moment she stood leaning against the bronco for
support, one hand clinging to the pommel of the saddle.
The guide sought to draw her away, fearful that the pony might
spring to one side and let loose a volley of kicks.
Grace shook her head, her left hand grasped the mane of the pony
and she pulled herself to his head. Fumbling in her pocket, she
drew forth a piece of candy and felt rather than, saw the bronco's
lips close over the sweet morsel.
"Wall, ef thet don't beat the Dutch!" exclaimed a cowboy. "A
bronc' eatin' outer a lady's hand. What's the alkali flats a-
comin' to!"
"She's a reg'lar lion tamer, thet's the shorest thing I know,"
declared another. "Hey! What's up now?"
Grace's fingers had slowly relaxed their grip on the black
bronco's mane, a faint moan escaped her lips, and the Overland
girl slipped down under the pony's neck in a dead faint. The
bronco, merely by lifting a forefoot and bringing it down on his
conqueror, could have crushed the life out of Grace Harlowe.
Instead, the horse arched his neck, curled his head down and nosed
her with the nearest approach to affection that any man there ever
had seen a bronco exhibit.
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