let go would be to lose all that he had gained after so much danger
in getting as far as he had.

By this time, both boy and pony had drifted down stream several
rods.

The pony righted himself and struck out for the bank. Ned was by his
side almost instantly, being aided in the effort to get there by
having the reins to pull himself in by.

Bad-eye refused instinctively to head down stream. There was only
one thing to do. That was to climb into the saddle and get him
started. Ned did this with difficulty. His weight made the pony sink
at first, the animal whinnying with fear.

Fearing to drown the broncho, the boy slipped off, at the same time
taking a firm grip on the lines.

Bad-eye came to the surface at once. Ned's right hand was on the
pommel, the reins bunched in his left. He brought his knee sharply
against the animal's side.

"Whoop!" he urged, again driving the knee against the pony's ribs.

Under the strong guiding hand of his master, the animal fighting
every inch of the way, began swimming down stream.

"I'm coming!" shouted the boy.

Before that moment he had not had breath nor the time to call.