The river roared louder with each step Star took, and the boy knew they were approaching the edge, with a sheer drop to the water below. Higher and higher Star mounted, and at last stood with his forefeet braced against a stone, his widened eyes staring into the depths. They had reached the edge.
Not fifty feet from them was the runaway bronco, his head moving from side to side in bewildered fright, his whole body trembling violently.
Roy whistled softly.
“That way, Star,” he whispered. “Easy, now! Just a little more—”
His hand was on his rope that hung from the saddlehorn. If he could ring the bronc, the rest would be easy, for the pony was much too frightened to resist. He could lead the animal down safely.
Pulling the reins ever so slightly, Roy brought Star to a halt. He was near enough to throw. Carefully he poised the lariat. His knees gripped Star’s side.
The rope whistled overhead, straightened out like a snake. True was the throw, and truly the noose landed, full over the pony’s neck.
Then, from below, came a yell of exultation.
“Atta baby, Roy! Great stuff! I knew you’d make it! I waited until—”
The pony, with the rope about his neck, jerked as though he had been stung with fire. A shrill cry, almost human, burst from him. He leaped forward.