"If he is, he knows, at least, enough to mind his own business," snapped Tad.
A jeering laugh followed the remark.
"Did ye mean that fer me?" demanded the mountain boy, rising angrily.
"If the coat fits, put it on," answered the freckle-faced boy indifferently, vaulting lightly into the saddle.
"I'll bet that's Boss Simms's kid—the pale-faced dude, eh?" sneered one sharply.
An angry growl answered the suggestion. Tad thinking it was time to be off, turned his pony about and Phil did the same. But no sooner had they headed their mounts toward home, Tad being slightly in the lead, than a rope squirmed through the air.
It dropped over the shoulders of Mr. Simms' delicate young son, tightened about his arms with a jerk.
"Help!" cried the frightened boy.
Tad, glancing back apprehensively saw what had happened. He wheeled his pony like a flash, but not quickly enough to save his companion from falling.
Phil Simms was roped from his pony, landing heavily in the dust of the street.