“Talk about your untamed catamounts!” gurgled Ready. “Why, that boy is the worst yet!”
“Ugh!” grunted Old Joe. “Him got Injun heart.”
But Frank said not a word, as he leaped to his feet and ran toward the spot where his horse was picketed.
Merry knew Dick was in danger, for the wild steer might run at that mad pace for miles and miles, and there was no telling what might happen when the lad got off the creature’s back.
Merry’s horse snorted as he came up, backing away and flinging up its head; but he seized the picket-rope and quickly had the beast by the head.
Up came the picket, and Frank quickly flung himself on the back of the horse, without stopping to saddle his mount. Then he whirled the horse’s head toward the spot where he could see the steer careering down the valley, and gave the bronco the end of the rope.
He was off in pursuit, wondering how it happened that Dick had managed to get astride the steer.
The explanation was simple enough. Dick had wandered away to the stream, where he climbed into the lower branches of a tree. The steer came along to drink, and the reckless youngster dropped astride his back.
Merriwell urged the horse to its fastest pace, guiding it with the picket-rope. He did not look back to see if any of the others followed, but kept his eyes on the steer that was bearing the boy away.
The herd of cattle at a distance looked up in alarm as the frightened steer approached. Merry feared they might stampede, with the steer ridden by the boy at their head.