"Get up in th' saddle an' pull this rope tight—tight," he said, and at a word from him Pepper braced herself, as well as she could, as if a cow were at the other end. He slid from the saddle, touched the sand for an instant, and pulled himself at his best speed along the lariat, moving too rapidly to be caught, and soon stood at the side of the woman who had saved him.
"Can't we save that darling?" she asked, tears in her eyes.
"We're goin' to try mighty hard," he said. "Start ahead, slow—a little more. You watch yore cayuse an' stop instanter when I says th' word. I'm scared we'll break Pepper's laigs, 'though if it's done easy we may get along all right; it looks soft, right there. Ready? Then, pull. Come, Pepper! Come on, little hoss! Come on! Come on!" he cried, and then he whistled the well-known signal. "Come on! That's th' girl! That's th' girl! Keep a-churnin', tear it up! Come on! Come on, you black darlin'! That's th' way! Keep a-comin', keep a-comin'!"
Slowly Pepper went sideways, Margaret fearing that its legs would snap under the strain, but the struggling animal fell on its side, and then came the tug of war. Johnny added his strength to the rope and slowly, an inch at a time, they gained, and then had to rest for a moment because flesh and blood could not stand such a continued effort. Johnny breathed deeply and relaxed.
"Once more, Ma'am," he said, getting a fresh hold on the rope, "I'm glad that saddle is a rim-fire—I'd mistrust a center-fire, with its one cinch. An' I'm glad it was made by Ol' Hawkins—that pommel can stand twice th' strain. Now then—pull!" Again they rested, the blood pounding in his ears. "Yo're comin' fine, little hoss! We ain't handlin' you very gentle; but yo're comin'!" A few minutes later Pepper slid across sand that was dry and honest, and with the slackening of the rope she scrambled to her feet and trembled, weary but safe.
Johnny hung the lariat on his saddle and then rubbed the velvety muzzle which sought his cheek, and stroked the quivering shoulder. Impulsively he buried his face in the wet, sandy, roughened coat on her neck and flung an arm around it; and when he turned away his face was drawn and wet, and there were tears in his eyes despite all effort of will.
"Ma'am," he said, huskily, "Pepper an' me owe you a debt we never can pay; but we can try right hard to square up some of it. I'll never forget th' last half-hour, never."
"How did you come to get in it?" asked Margaret, glancing where she last had seen the body of Lang. It was gone, and so was the horse. The sands, still undulating, were slowly assuming their mask of innocence.
"Pepper got goin' so fast she couldn't stop quick enough, which was my fault. I didn't try to turn her in time."