suddenly, pitched and bucked, tossed and twisted,
all in mad effort. But the weight clung fast. He
whirled again, and again leaped, leaped clear of
the ground, returning to it this time on stiffened
legs. But he could not shake off the weight. He
flung across the corral, twisting, writhing, bucking;
flung back again -- heart thumping, lungs
shrieking for air, muscles wrenching and straining;
and again across, responding, and continuing to
respond, to the ringing voice within, like the king
of kings that he was. But he could not dislodge
the weight.

"Great!" yelled an excited spectator.

"See that hoss sunfishin'!" burst out another.

"An' corkscrewin'!" added a third.

"Better 'n a outlaw!" amplified a fourth.

And now the first again: "Stay with him,
Alex! I got two dollars -- Oh, hell!" -- this disgustedly.
"Come out o' that corner!" Then
suddenly he turned, face red as fire, and apologized
to Helen. "I beg your pardon, Miss Richards,"
he offered, meekly. But he turned back
to the spectacle and promptly forgot all else
in his returning excitement. "Shoot it to him,
Alex!" he yelled. "Shoot it; shoot it! He's a
helldinger, that hoss!" Frenziedly he then yawped,
cowboy fashion: "Whe-e-e-o-o-o-yip-yip!
Whe-e-e-o-o-o-yip-yip!"

Yet Helen -- poor Helen! -- had not heard. Holding
her breath in tense fear, eyes upon her pride
fighting his fight of pride, half hopeful that

[[66]]

p065 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p066w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p067

v?