Spreading out a little they continued on their way, the ponies snorting, threatening to whirl about and race back into the open plain. The ground was like a furnace and the grass smouldered beneath them, heating their feet and singeing their fetlocks.
Suddenly Ned's pony reared into the air, bucked and hurled its rider far over into the smouldering bunch grass.
Ned uttered a yell of warning as he felt himself going.
The guide wheeled like a flash. Ned's mount had whirled and was away like a shot. But the guide was after him with even greater speed. The chase came to an abrupt ending some few rods farther on, when Kris Kringle's lariat squirmed out, bringing the fleeing pony to the ground with its nose in the hot dust.
Without dismounting, the guide turned his own mount, and fairly dragging the unwilling pony behind him, pounded back to the place where Ned had been unhorsed.
"Grab him!" commanded the guide to Ned, who had quickly scrambled to his feet. "What was it that he saw?"
"I don't know. Guess he made up his mind to go back."
"No; he saw something. Hang on to him and cover the ground all about you till you find it."
"Wha—what do you—"
"Never mind. Look!"