Things were moving along as well as anyone could want; and it looked as though that particular horse thief was bound to learn a lesson he would never forget.
As if not in the least at the end of his resources, the yellow pony now started on a new tack; and Bob’s eye could hardly follow his swift and eccentric motions.
“Oh! there he goes flying, Frank!” the Kentucky lad suddenly gasped.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SILENCE AT CHERRY BLOSSOM
Buckskin had done it!
Some new and entirely unexpected trick had caught that clever and alarmed horse-thief napping. Torn from his hold, he found himself hurled over the head of the animal. Bob could hear the heavy thud as he struck the ground.
“Wow! that hurt some, I tell you, Frank?” he cried.
“Watch!” said the other, tersely.
There was about one chance in three that the man who had been so violently dislodged from his seat might have broken his neck. This fellow was either agile, or lucky enough to avoid such a happening. They saw him roll over several times, and then scramble to his knees.
The yellow pony gave a savage little squeal. Evidently Buckskin was not satisfied with having simply gotten rid of the unpleasant burden he had been carrying. The insult rankled deep, and hence he made for the spot where the now alarmed wretch was struggling to his feet, with the desire to escape holding chief place in his mind.