He looked hastily around.
A slight commotion suddenly sounded from behind a group of trees. All heard a low, ominous growl; and even before it had ceased Jack Conroy's broncho, rendered uncontrollable by fear, had bolted, and was fairly flying over the ground directly toward the bluff.
As the boys realized his danger, they gave a cry of alarm.
CHAPTER XI
THE RUNAWAY
Without an instant's hesitation, Bob Somers vaulted into the saddle. His quirt came down with stinging force on the broncho's flank. Snorting, the animal bounded high in the air—a mad race was on.
A cold air rushed past Bob Somers' face as the ground began to fall behind at a rate which fairly made his head swim. Leaning almost upon the broncho's neck, he urged him forward with quirt and voice until the animal was galloping at a nerve-racking pace. Trees, bushes and rocks seemed to be falling together, and whirled by in the wildest confusion.
A single misstep, and the rider might be hurled with crushing force to the ground.
But Bob Somers gave little thought to this. He saw Jack Conroy just ahead, fighting desperately to swerve the broncho from his headlong course; and every instant the sorrel was carrying his rider nearer to the brink of the cliff.