“There’s my chance,” he thought, following them with his keen eyes until they settled down again among the sage brush. Then he rode away toward them. When he came within about a hundred yards, he jumped from his mare, tied her rather carelessly to a brush, and, cocking his gun, began to step watchfully through the sage toward the place where the chickens had lighted.
Suddenly, with a sputtering cluck, a big hen sprang into the air. The excited hunter fired at the flying bird and missed. The report of the gun brought the flock out of the brush. He fired again and down tumbled one of them. Watching where it dropped, he reloaded his gun and began to walk about to scare up others; but evidently the whole flock had risen at the first shot; so he picked up the fallen bird and turned to carry it back to Brownie.
To his surprise she was half a mile away, galloping back toward the ranch. Always nervous around guns, she had jerked loose at the shooting, and run away. And she might have kept on going; but suddenly some one on horseback galloped out of the trees at the old ford crossing, and taking in the situation, struck straight for the runaway. It was Alta Morgan, who, returning from her ride, had taken the shorter way home.
Brownie saw her coming, whirled and headed back toward the hills; but Eagle gradually overtook her. Fred, watching eagerly, saw the girl loose her lasso, whirl and fling it over the little mare’s head. Checked suddenly at the saddle horn, she turned humbly and came trotting back to her master led by the daring girl.
“Thank you very much,” said Fred, “but you shouldn’t have risked yourself so to save me a chase.”
“Oh, Eagle wouldn’t fall with me, would you?” she said, patting his warm neck.
“He is certainly a fine pony; and you surely know how to ride and to throw a lasso,” was Fred’s complimentary response. “But how can I repay you for this kindness?”
“Just come to our dance to-night.”
“Thank you; I’ll be there.”
“Now mind that you do,” she said lightly, turning to leave. “Good-by.”