"But, my boy, you will have to leave me again," went on the man of science dejectedly, "my ankle pains me so that I cannot move."
"But you can ride, can't you, sir?" asked Ralph.
"Yes! yes! I can do that. But where are your horses?"
"Right thar," said Pete, coming up. He waved his hand in an eloquent gesture at the animals standing at the edge of the little clearing, "take yer pick, gents. Thet little sorrel jes' about suits me."
So saying, the cow-puncher picked out a wiry, active looking little beast, and selected four others for his companions. The professor was aided into the saddle somehow, and, once up, sat clinging to the horn desperately.
"They'll never take me alive, boys," he assured them.
"That's the stuff, sir," cried Pete lustily; "you'll make a broncho-busting plainsman yet. Now, then, are we all ready?"
"All ready here," sung out Jack, who, like the others, was already in his borrowed saddle.
"All right, then. We're off, as the fellow says."
Pete dug his heels into his active little mount's sides, and the cayuse sprang forward in a way that showed Pete he was bestride of a good animal for their purposes.