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.