Chapter 2 AN OUTLAW MEETS HIS MATCH

The black did not move a muscle for a few seconds, then, with a sudden turn of the head, he made a grab for his rider's leg.

Grace, never having taken her eyes from the laid-back ears, gave a quick kick with her left foot, catching the pony fairly on the nose. As he hastily withdrew his head, she took advantage of the opportunity to tighten up on the reins, which brought the animal's head well up.

All these preparatory activities were observed with intense interest by cowboys and Overlanders.

"Watch him!" called Hi Lang in an urgent tone.

Grace was watching, her every faculty beat to the task of discovering what the next move of her mount was to be.

The black, as she tightened the rein, reared high in the air until his rider seemed to be standing straight up. One moment she felt that they were both going to fall over backwards, and was about to clear the stirrups to jump. Instead she brought her crop down on the black's head, with a resounding whack.

"Yeow!" howled the cowboys, but Grace did not hear them, for the pony had dropped to all fours, and no sooner had his feet touched the ground than he leaped clear of it, coming down stiff-legged with a jolt that jarred Grace Harlowe throughout her body in spite of her effort to soften the shock by throwing most of her weight on the stirrups.

"He's going to buck," warned the steady voice of Hi Lang.

Grace knew it in advance of the guide's warning, but, though she tugged with all her might, she was not strong enough to get the black bronco's head up so he could not carry out his intention. There followed a series of bucks and squeals, accompanied with flying hoofs, that sent the spectators fleeing for safety.

As for the Overland girl, her head was spinning, her hair was down and her sombrero long since had fallen off and been trampled in the alkali dust by the hoofs of her mount. The jolting she was getting was almost more than she could endure and sharp pains were shooting through her body. This bronco indeed was a master at the art of bucking, but vicious as were his movements the black had not succeeded in ridding himself of his rider.

"Look out!" yelled the guide.

All four feet went from under the pony and he struck the ground on his side with a force that brought a grunt from him. In the cloud of dust the spectators thought that Grace had been caught under the horse and crashed. Emma Dean uttered a cry of alarm, and Nora Wingate turned her head away that she might not see.

"She's all right!" shouted Hiram Lang, who had sprung forward to give assistance if it were needed.

The pony had thrown itself on its right side. Mr. Lang found Grace sitting calmly on the side of the saddle, free of the body of the horse, but breathing heavily. Her quickness had been the means of her disengaging herself as the bronco threw himself to the ground.

After giving the black a few seconds on his side, the Overland Rider brought her crop down on his rump with a vicious whack. It stung. Like a flash the pony was on his feet, with Grace's feet now planted firmly in the stirrups.

As Grace had expected, the bucking was resumed the instant the pony felt the smart of the crop. How the dust did fly then, and how those cowboy wranglers did yell!

"Who's a tenderfoot!" howled Hippy Wingate. "Just watch her smoke."

Grace Harlowe's whole body was weary, but her grit was not diminishing in the least. However, she decided that the time had arrived when she must do a little fighting for herself, and not leave it all to the pony, so, having arrived at this decision, Grace watched narrowly for a favorable opportunity to begin.

The opportunity came a few seconds later when the horse threw up his head preparatory to pitching forward in another series of savage bucks. Grace jerked the animal's head to one side, brought her quirt down sharply, and, at the same time, jabbed the little black fighter with her spurs.

She continued to apply this treatment for several seconds until the bronco, goaded to a change of tactics, whirled and started away at a run, driving straight through the assembled crowd. The crowd fled for their lives with Grace unable now to do more than stay on the saddle.

The black had not gone far before he stopped as suddenly as he had started, stopped stiff-legged, braced himself and slid on his feet through the alkali for several yards.

Grace Harlowe had been alert for this very thing, but just the same the suddenness of the move had nearly unhorsed her. As it was she fell forward on the neck of the bronco, but, recovering herself before the animal could begin bucking again, she regained her former position in the saddle and applied crop and spur vigorously.

The bronco again tried to buck, but under Grace's lively treatment he gave it up and started to run, and for the next few minutes pony and rider went like a black streak across the landscape, the Overland girl giving the pony no time for anything but to travel as fast as his legs would carry him, until they were a full two miles from the village.

Grace finally turned him about, without resistance on the pony's part, and raced for the corral, driving and urging the pony with crop and word, bound to wear him down and convince him once and for all that she was his master.

As the Overland Rider came up to the corral now at a jog trot, the bronco covered with white foam, the cowboys broke loose. Shrill cowboy yells, whoops and cat calls and a rattling fire of revolver shots into the air greeted her achievement.

"Grab him, you duffers!" shouted Hi Lang, running toward the bronco as he saw Grace wavering on her saddle. "Can't you see that game kid's all in?"

It was only by the exercise of sheer pluck that Grace Harlowe had held her seat on the saddle throughout that grilling ride. She had fought and won a battle with an "outlaw" pony that many a hard- muscled cowboy had fought only to lose. Now that she had conquered, however, Grace felt weak and dizzy, and the reaction, she found, was worse than the experience itself.

At Hi Lang's command, half a dozen cowboys had sprung to her assistance, but it was Hi who held up his arms to help her down.

"Fall over. I'll catch you," he urged.

Grace shook her head and tried to smile.

"I-I think I can make it, tha-ank you," she gasped, freeing her feet from the stirrups and slipping limply until her feet touched the ground. For a moment she stood leaning against the bronco for support, one hand clinging to the pommel of the saddle.

The guide sought to draw her away, fearful that the pony might spring to one side and let loose a volley of kicks.

Grace shook her head, her left hand grasped the mane of the pony and she pulled herself to his head. Fumbling in her pocket, she drew forth a piece of candy and felt rather than, saw the bronco's lips close over the sweet morsel.

"Wall, ef thet don't beat the Dutch!" exclaimed a cowboy. "A bronc' eatin' outer a lady's hand. What's the alkali flats a- comin' to!"

"She's a reg'lar lion tamer, thet's the shorest thing I know," declared another. "Hey! What's up now?"

Grace's fingers had slowly relaxed their grip on the black bronco's mane, a faint moan escaped her lips, and the Overland girl slipped down under the pony's neck in a dead faint. The bronco, merely by lifting a forefoot and bringing it down on his conqueror, could have crushed the life out of Grace Harlowe.

Instead, the horse arched his neck, curled his head down and nosed her with the nearest approach to affection that any man there ever had seen a bronco exhibit.

Hi Lang gathered the unconscious girl up cautiously and carried her to a safe spot where he laid her down.

"Get water. Everybody stand back and give her air," he directed.

"I will look after her," said Elfreda Brigg hurrying to Grace's side.

The water, fetched in a cowboy's hat, came hand just as Grace regained consciousness Elfreda bathed her face from the hat and fanned her with her own sombrero.

"What a per-perfectly silly thing for me do," muttered Grace, raising herself on elbow.

"If you mean riding that wild animal, I agree with you," frowned

Miss Briggs.

"I mean the faint. What will these men think of me!"

"I reckon if you'll give them a chance they'll tell you what they think," interjected Hi Lang. "Bud, come here," he called, beckoning to one of the wranglers. "This little lady wants to know what you fellows think of a woman who rides a horse and then faints away. Tell her."

Bud stepped up, flushing painfully under his tan, awkwardly fumbling his hat.

"Ah-Ah reckon they think thet you're 'bout the gamest little sport thet ever hit the leather," declared Bud. "Any feller thet sez you ain't, is a liar and a hoss thief!" Bud glared about him as if challenging some one to take up his defi.

Grace laughed so merrily that, for the moment, she forgot that she was supposed to be in a fainting condition. Getting up rather unsteadily, she offered her hand to the cowboy, who, in his embarrassment, instantly dropped his bravado and half held out a limp paw for Grace to shake.

"Them's our sentiments. We double cinch what Bud jest articulated,

Lady," called a cowboy voice.

"Thank you, Bud. Thank you all, fellows. It is much higher praise than I deserve," she replied, smiling and waving a hand to the group.

"Where do you all reckon on goin', Miss?" questioned another of the men.

Grace told him that they had planned to cross the American Desert.

"And maybe we're going to look for a lost gold mine or a diamond mine or an iron mine down in the Specter Range, or something equally exciting," added Hippy Wingate.

"Reckon there ain't no such animal in these here parts," drawled Bud. "If you all need help any old time, Ah reckon you all know where to come for it, Lady," he added.

Grace thanked him and said she would remember.

"You are not thinking of riding that black bronco, are you!" questioned Tom Gray. "What's the next move?"

"Yes, to your first question. We expect to make our start this afternoon, unless Mr. Lang advises to the contrary. What do you say, Mr. Lang?"

"I reckoned that, after what you've been through, you'd be wishing to lay up for the rest of the day," replied the guide.

"That would be the sensible course to follow," agreed Grace's husband.

"No. No change of plans is necessary so far as I am concerned," she replied. "Mr. Lang, will you please ask one of the boys to groom Blackie-that is what I shall call my pony-and not to be cross with him? I do not wish the little fellow stirred up. I have him temporarily under control, and am certain that after I have ridden him for a day he will be as manageable as the rest of them. Where shall we meet you, Mr. Lang?"

"Eight here at the corral. Three o'clock." Hi turned his back on them and walked away to give Grace's directions about the bronco to one of the wranglers.

"I am going back to the hotel to lie down for an hour," announced Grace. "Tom, you may go out and do a little shopping for me while I am resting. Girls," she said, turning to her companions, "I would suggest that all of you turn in for a beauty sleep. You will need it, for we shall have a hot, dusty ride between here and the mountains, which we shall not reach until some time this evening. If you have any further purchases to make at the general store, you had better make them now, or let Tom do it for you. We must be on time at the corral. Mr. Lang probably has timed our departure to fit certain plans of his own."

The girls said they had completed their purchases, and shortly after that all were sound asleep, fortifying themselves for the experiences before them, experiences that were destined to be the most strenuous that they had ever met with, outside of the battle front in France.