“Stick to it, Flash!” Teddy panted, drawing his hand quickly over his eyes to clear them of sweat. “Another five hundred feet and we’ll be safe—the slide is slowing up! If I could only see—this dust—if Roy is safe—”
The grinding noise to the rear of the boy was gradually lessening, and the hurtling rocks were becoming fewer in number. Still Teddy knew he was by no means safe, as any moment another slide might start and overtake him. And a second slide, piled on top of the already loosened earth, might completely overwhelm him. He must ride, and ride hard, if he wished to place himself out of danger.
Flash’s trip down the mountain was one of breath-taking escapes from destruction. Teddy swayed with him as though he were a part of the horse. Almost automatically, the boy would know when the bronco was going to plant his feet to avoid a sudden drop, and he would brace himself for the shock. Then the pony would slide and leap—slide and leap. On Teddy’s part it was a marvel of horsemanship; on Flash’s part it was a wonderful example of animal intelligence. Frightened as he was, the pony never once made a misstep, never once gave way to his terror and dashed blindly forward. Had he done so it would have meant the end for Teddy Manley.
At this moment the young rancher bore little resemblance to the young man registered as “Theodore Havens Manley, Latin Scientific Course,” on the records of the Hopper Boarding School. His face was streaked with dust, and perspiration had smudged it into a black mask. His hat was gone—swept off by a swishing branch—and his hair was in wild disorder. His clothing was torn in several places by the bushes he had dashed through. He was panting fiercely, and his eyes were sharpened into two points of blue light. From his lips came words that were barely articulate.
“Now, Flash—watch that rock! Stick to it, old boy, stick to it—a little more—yow! That was a close one! All right, baby, you’re not hurt—take it easy now—”
A leap—a swift, neck-jerking halt—slipping, sliding, trying desperately for a foothold—another leap—
Suddenly a yell burst from Teddy’s lips. Frantically he pulled on the reins, seeking vainly to stop the pony almost in midair. The boy’s face paled. In front of him, so close that the horse’s forefeet seemed on the very edge, yawned a deep gully!
“Flash! We’re done for! Ah-h—”
In the second that remained to him Teddy made his decision. It was impossible to stop, the gully seemed to rush eagerly to meet them. There was only one chance—that Flash could clear it, could leap to the other side.
Teddy released the reins. He dug his heels deep into the pony’s sides. And, with his heart in his throat, the boy felt the horse rise beneath him and sail through the air.