Warily, he stepped out of the way of rapidly-moving hoofs.
“Here’s where some of my cowboy experience will come in nicely,” he murmured. “Whoa there, old chap!” His hand gently stroked a quivering, glossy neck. “Whoa, I say!”
Working near those swinging bodies, in a dim light, with rain and wind beating relentlessly upon him, had an element of danger in it which lent spice to the situation. Dave’s lantern, slung over his arm, sent curious patches of shadow dancing across the ground and reflected in sharp metallic dashes in water and ooze.
In a few moments the lad succeeded in untying the rope. The black horse, freed, reared and plunged; but Dave’s strong grip on the halter could not be shaken off.
“It won’t be so easy riding you, old boy, with no bridle or saddle,” he muttered, “but here goes!”
“For gracious’ sake, what are you about, Brandon?” screeched Victor, in alarm, for the first time realizing his intention. “Look out, you silly thing; you’ll get tossed or be mashed into a jelly!”
To his unbounded amazement, he saw Dave Brandon spring lightly astride the prancing horse.
“Great Scott!” he cried, breathlessly.
“I’ll be back soon, Vic,” shouted Dave.
He pressed his knees against the animal’s side, leaned far over on its neck to escape the full force of the storm, then, with both hands gripping the halter, held on tight as the horse shot forward.