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-