"Some ridin', boys! Some ridin'! Go to it!"
"What's the matter, Babe?" asked Slim, of his assistant who had thus given vent to his feelings.
"Go look! It's so good I don't want to spoil it!" laughed the fat one. "Two tenderfoots—Oh, my—Hole me up, somebody!" he begged. "Some ridin'!"
Bud had a glimpse, in the corral, of a youth about his own age, flying rapidly around the enclosure on the back of a bucking bronco. The lad was holding on with both arms around the horn of the saddle.
"Get him off!" cried Bud in a high pitched voice, as he recognized the pony to which the strange lad was clinging. "Tartar will kill him! Get him off!"
CHAPTER II
A CALL FOR HELP
Without waiting for his pony to come to a stop, Bud fairly flung himself out of the saddle, and with his rope, or lariat, coiled on his arm he ran toward the corral.
"What's matter?" demanded Babe Milton, the assistant foreman, pausing in his repeated exclamations of:
"Some ridin'! Some ridin'!"