Blackhawk was not accustomed to being beaten and, though ordinarily he had a good temper, when he was angry he could be very mean. Accordingly, as though reasoning to himself that he had done his share in carrying his rider so many miles, when he felt the sharp cut of the lariat he resented it. And his resentment took the form of a vicious lunge forward of his head, which enabled him to get the bits in his teeth, with which advantage no one could control him.
Despite his greater weight, the ranchman had been close up with the boys and had noted Blackhawk's action.
Realizing that it would be hopeless to try to overtake the runaway, and fearing that some injury might befall Tom, Mr. Wilder shouted:
"Rope the black, Bill! He's got the bit!"
Loosening his lariat as quickly as possible, the elder of the
Wilder boys began to whirl it round his head.
"Throw it! throw it!" roared the ranchman, "Can't you see you're losing ground every second?"
Never before had Bill been called on for so important a cast of his lasso, and for a moment his hand trembled.
"Steady! Let her go now!" counseled his father.
At the word Bill put forth all his strength and the rope shot from his hand, the noose opening perfectly as it sped through the air.
Fascinated, the others watched as it hung a moment in the air and dropped directly over Blackhawk's head.