That was where Chunky came to grief once more. His pony's feet were jerked out from under it by the mighty lurch of Satan when he went down. Stacy Brown and his broncho were thrown flat on the ground in a twinkling. The lad's right leg was pinned under the pony, but the boy, with great presence of mind, held the rope fast to the pommel.
Ropes flew from all directions, now that the stallion was down. In a moment more they had Satan entangled in a maze of them. The horse-hunters were shouting and yelling in triumph at the fat boy's splendid capture. So busily engaged were they in subduing the black that, for the moment, they lost sight of the fact that the Angel, followed by Tad Butler on his broncho, had cleared the barrier too.
Nor did Tad give heed to them.
With rope unslung he was stretching through the foothills at a breakneck pace, on the trail of the Angel.
"There goes the Angel, with the kid after him!" bellowed a cowboy.
Three men leaped into their saddles and were off like a shot.
Tad Butler slowly, but surely, drew up on the racing stallion. The pursuers saw him unsling his rope, holding the coil easily at his side.
"He's going to cast," cried the cowboys in amazement that the slender lad would undertake alone to capture the powerful animal.
"He'll be dragged to death!" warned one.
"Don't try it, kiddie!" shouted another at the top of his voice.