A run, or take-off, of some fifty feet lay between Rob and the dark crack in the earth that was the gulch. Short as was the distance, from what Rob knew of the active little beast he bestrode, he believed he could do it. He raised his heavy quirt above the pony's trembling flanks.
The lash descended, cutting a broad wale on the buckskin's back. He gave a squeal of rage and bounded forward.
"Yip-yip!" yelled Rob.
Out of the peril of the situation a spirit of recklessness seemed to have descended upon him. He could have shouted aloud as he felt the active bounds of the cayuse. One hurried glance at the awful gap before him gave the boy a rough estimate of its width—ten feet or more. A tremendous leap for a pony. But it must be done.
"Yip-yip," yelled Rob once more, as he dug his spurs in deep, and the maddened pony gave one tremendous bound that brought it right to the edge of the pit.
Then the brave buckskin gathered its limbs for the leap.
For one sickening instant it paused, and Rob felt the chill fear of death sweep over him. Then the brave buckskin gathered its limbs for the leap. Like steel springs its tough muscles rebounded, and the yelling, shrieking cow-punchers saw a buckskin body, surmounted by a cheering boy, give a great leap upward and—alight safe on the farther side of the chasm.
Cheer after cheer went up, while Rob waved his hat exultantly and yelled back at his friends.