Immediately he started running toward the approaching horseman.
In a moment the great herd was moving after him, faster, faster, faster. There rose a rumble of hoofs that was terrifying, a clatter of horns like musketry, and behind the mass of cattle floated upward a dust-cloud that resembled the smoke of battle.
Frank Merriwell urged his horse to its utmost, bending forward and seeking to estimate the possibility of reaching the boy in time.
Dick ran for his life, well knowing that certain death was seeking to overtake him.
Nearer, nearer, nearer! Then Frank shouted:
“Stand still! Make ready!”
It seemed that the rushing herd must sweep them both down, but Frank charged athwart the crest of the mass of animals.
Fortunately the boy heard and understood this time. He stopped and partly lifted his arms, but, knowing that to pick him up while dashing at full speed on horseback was a feat worthy of a most experienced and expert cowboy, there was doubt and fear in his heart.
Frank leaned over, clinging to the neck of the horse. It seemed that he meant to run the boy down, he went so close to Dick. As he passed, he made a clutch at the strong sash of the lad—caught it—held fast.
The boy was lifted by Frank’s powerful arm. He felt himself raised and flung across the horse in front of his brother, and then the doubly burdened horse wheeled and swept away from beneath the very noses of the cattle.