“H-h-h-h-e-r-e!”

“W-w-where?”

“H-h-h-holding to the b-r-r-oncho’s t-tail.”

“Wow!” howled Stacy, as, turning in the saddle, he discovered his companion being fairly jerked through the air, holding fast to the pony’s tail, the lad’s feet hardly touching the ground at all.  The broncho, that ordinarily would have resented such treatment, too fully occupied in saving his own life from the flames, gave no heed to the weight he was dragging, and it is doubtful if he even realized there was any additional weight there.

With a final, desperate leap, the broncho shot out ahead of the narrowing lane.  Like the jaws of some great monster, the two lapping lines of fire closed in behind them, roaring as if with deadly rage.

The pony dashed out into a broad, open water course, whose dry, glistening sands would prove an effectual barrier to the prairie fire.

Tad, though everything was swimming before his eyes, realized quickly that they were now well out of danger.

“St-t-t-top him.  I c-c-c-an’t let go if you d-d-don’t.”

“Whoa!  Whoa!  Don’t you know enough to quit when you’re through?” chided Chunky, tugging at the reins.  The broncho carried them some distance before the lad was able to pull him down.  Finally he did so.

“Leggo!” he shouted, at the same time whirling the pony sharply about, fairly “cracking the whip” with Tad Butler.

Chunky’s clever foresight probably saved Tad Butler’s life, for, instantly the pony found itself free, it began bucking and kicking in a circle, kicking a ring all round the compass before it finally decided to settle down on all fours.  Finishing, it meekly lowered its nose to the ground and now, as docile as a, kitten after having supped on warm milk, began dozing, the steam rising in a cloud from its sides.

“Well, of all the fool fools, you’re the champion fool!” growled Stacy, slipping from the saddle and surveying the broncho with disapproving eyes.  “Hah!  I guess we’d been done to a turn by this if it hadn’t been for you, just the same.  Hello, Tad!”

Tad had doubled up in a heap where the tail of the broncho had flung him.  He was well-nigh spent, but he smiled back at his companion, who stood on a slight rise of ground, almost a heroic figure.

Chunky’s shirt was entirely missing, his skin red from the heat, ridged with scratches where he had come in violent contact with cactus plants, his hair tousled and gray with dust.

“Well you are a sight,” grinned Tad.

“You wouldn’t take a prize at a baby show yourself,” retorted Stacy, spicily.

Tad’s clothes were torn, and his limbs were black and blue all the way down where the hoofs of the broncho had raked them again and again.

“My arms feel a foot longer than they did.  What are you looking at?”

Stacy’s eyes grew large and luminous as he gazed off over the plains.