He instantly followed Frank in making a forward rush.
There was a confusion of sounds just ahead, amid which could be heard the vicious squealing of the buckskin pony, which, being possibly held a prisoner by its entangled rope, could only let fly with its heels in the hope of beating off the enemy.
Frank could see by now, his eyes being better than those of his chum. He paid no attention to the wildly cavorting Domino, knowing that so long as the black had the benefit of his entire rope it would indeed be a bold, as well as skillful rustler, who could throw a leg over his glossy back.
And, even as they were thus hurrying to arrive upon the scene, a dusky figure suddenly made a flying leap, landing on the back of the yellow pony. Frank saw the man bending forward the very instant he gained his seat. He knew what that action meant, and that a keen knife was being drawn over the holding lariat.
Now Buckskin was free from his tether. He could be seen for the first time rearing in the air, as a cow pony always will when full of spirit, or excited.
Frank had thrown his rifle half way to his shoulder on the impulse of the moment. Then, as if on second thought, he let it drop again; and Bob actually believed he heard him give vent to a chuckle.
“Why don’t you shoot at him, Frank?” the latter cried, excitedly. “Look! he’s going to run away with your horse!”
“Is he?” answered Frank. “Well, perhaps you’ve got another guess coming, Bob. Maybe the shoe is on the other foot; and Buckskin is going to run away with him! Watch what happens, Bob!”
“Oh! look at the pony kick up!” gasped Bob. “But that’s a good rider, Frank. He sticks like a leech, and he may beat the horse at his own game!”
“Wait!”