time before.

"I've got to have a saddle. That's the only way I can stick on to
drive him in, and we'll need it to hold to as well," he decided.

Every moment was precious now. Whirling the animal about, Ned drove
him into the thicket where the saddles lay folded against trees.

It was the work of seconds for him to leap off and throw the heavy
saddle on Bad-eye's back. The boy worked with the speed and
precision of a Gattling gun. Yet he groaned hopelessly when he
realized that his delay might mean the death of two of his
companions.

Professor Zepplin arrived at the camp just as Ned had finally
cinched the girths and swung himself into the saddle.

"Where--where is he?" gasped the Professor, now breathing hard.

"Below the bend. Get back there with a rope and be ready to toss it
to him if he lets go."

Ned and his pony crashed through the brush. He had no spur with
which to urge on the animal, but Ned had thoughtfully picked up a
long, stout stick, and once more they drove straight at the high
bank.

"Stop! I forbid it!" thundered the Professor.

Ned paid no more attention to him than had he not spoken. It was a