"Overland Limited!" shouted the tramp, dashing toward Boyar. With a spring he was in the saddle and had slipped the quirt from the saddle-horn to his wrist. He would need that quirt, as he had no spurs.
Round swung Tenlow, cursing. Black Boyar shot across the meadow, the quirt falling at each jump. The tramp glanced back. Tenlow's right hand went up and his gun roared once, twice....
The boy Collie, white and gasping, threw himself in front of Tenlow's horse. The deputy spurred the pony over him and swept down the meadow.
Louise, angered in that the boy had snatched Boyar's reins from her as Overland shouted, relented as she saw the instant bravery in the lad's endeavor to stop Tenlow's horse. She stooped over him. He rose stiffly.
"Oh! I thought you were hurt!" she exclaimed.
"Nope! I guess not. I was scared, I guess. Let's watch 'em, Miss!" And forgetful of his bruised and shaken body, he limped to the edge of the meadow, followed by Louise. "There they go!" he cried. "Red's 'way ahead. The sheriff gent can't shoot again—he's too busy ridin'."
"Boyar! Boyar! Good horse! Good horse!" cried the girl as the black pony flashed across the steep slope of the ragged mountain side like a winged thing. "Boyar! Boy!"
She shivered as the loose shale, ploughed by the pony's flying hoofs, slithered down the slope at every plunge.
"Can he ride?" shouted Collie, wild tears of joy in his eyes.
Suddenly Overland, glancing back, saw Tenlow stop and raise his arm. The tramp cowboy swung Black Boyar half-round, and driving his unspurred heels into the pony's ribs, put him straight down the terrific slope of the mountain at a run.