CONCLUSION.
"Where do I come in? Won't you let me help?" bawled Tubby, hurrying after his two chums as fast as his fat legs would carry him.
Neither of the others paid the slightest attention to him. Just then Tubby was about as useless as a fifth wheel to a wagon. He was so clumsy that if he attempted to take a hand in the rescue work the chances were Rob and Merritt would have to spend a portion of their time in saving him.
They ran out into the middle of the road. The crazy little pony was already close up, and there was no time to be lost.
"Now!" shouted Rob. "Nab him, and throw him if you can!"
Both scouts fastened upon the bridle close to the bit. Every ounce of muscle the boys possessed was brought to bear, supplemented by all the shrewdness they had acquired upon the football field, in tackling and throwing the runner who held the coveted pigskin oval.
There was something of a struggle, and then down went the frantic pony.
"Hey! let me sit on him; I'll keep him quiet!" called Tubby, as he came panting up to the spot; and once he had deposited his extra weight upon the little beast, it had no other course open but to succumb to circumstances and lie quiet.
Rob turned to see what had become of the child. There was a stout, red-faced man, coming on the run as fast as he could hurry. Undoubtedly it was his child. While he was in a store, the pony probably had been taken with a sudden seizure of what Rob called "blind staggers," which sometimes causes horses to dash madly away as though possessed of an evil spirit, and even to destroy themselves against any barrier that arises in their path.
The child, though crying with fright, was apparently unhurt. Some one had taken her from the basket-cart, and should the pony have broken loose again, it could not have imperiled the little one.