Highly indignant, the boy strove desperately to regain control of the animal, while peals of uproarious laughter came from several of the lumberjacks.
Boys and men, too occupied to have eyes for anything beyond their immediate surroundings, failed to observe a horseman emerge from the timber above and stare earnestly toward them.
As Jack Conroy, fuming with anger, at last managed to drop from the saddle and rushed toward Pete, Bob Somers whirled his broncho around and rode between them.
"Hold on, Jack," he pleaded, earnestly. "Stop! Grab him, Dave!"
A hand reached up and gripped his arm. Bob turned quickly, to get a nearer view than he liked of Tom Smull's features.
As he voiced an emphatic protest, fingers were closed tighter about his wrist. Then came a sudden, violent jerk which pulled him over sideways. He was just able to withdraw his feet from the stirrups and swing his leg over the pommel when the frightened broncho bolted.
By a skilful movement, Bob managed to land on his feet.
"I'll show ye, pard," snarled Tom Smull. "Shoved me inter the squash, hey? I reckon as how ye won't feel any ter the best when I gits through with ye."
"Ha, ha, hyar's whar we gits wengeance!" shouted Pete Colliver.
It was a moment of the utmost confusion. Riderless horses were swinging wildly over the uneven ground, while the indignant boys rushed up from different points to give aid to Bob and Jack.