Fascinated, the others watched as it hung a moment in the air and dropped directly over Blackhawk’s head.

“Pretty cast!” praised the ranchman.  “Now ride along.  Don’t pull up too soon.”

But his words were too late.

The pony which his elder son rode was perfectly trained to rope steers.  As it caught the sharp hiss of the lariat the animal had slackened its stride, and the instant it felt the rope tighten had stiffened its legs and braced, almost squatting back on its haunches.

And the next moment Blackhawk was jerked from his feet, measuring his length on the ground, while Tom went sailing through the air, alighting about twenty feet away.

“Hold as you are!” ordered Mr. Wilder of Bill and then dashed for the kicking black, with Larry and Horace at his heels.

“Tom!  Tom! are you hurt?” called his brother.

For a second there was no reply, and then their anxiety was relieved by seeing Tom stand up.

“Any bones broken?” asked Mr. Wilder, who had reached the black and was dismounting.

“No.  I’m all right, thanks to the prairie grass,” replied the younger of the brothers.  “Is Blackhawk hurt?”

“I don’t think so.  Ease up, Bill.  I’ve got him by the bridle.”

Quickly the elder of the Wilder boys rode forward, and as the prostrate pony felt the rope loosen he bounded to his feet.

With skilled eye the ranchman looked him over and there was a world of relief in his voice as he said: 

“We got out of that scrape mighty luckily.  There isn’t a scratch on Blackhawk, and if Tom’s——­”

“There’s no scratch on me either,” returned the boy.  “But what about the race, do I win or not?”

“Considering you flew from Blackhawk’s back almost to the tree, I reckon you do,” declared Mr. Wilder.

And looking up, Tom noticed that he was, indeed, standing under the branches of the tree that marked the goal.

CHAPTER VIII

HORACE IN DANGER

As the others reached the tree they dismounted, unbuckled the saddle bags and removed the saddles.

“Well, commander, do you wish me to select a place to hobble the ponies?” asked Mr. Wilder, addressing Tom.

“Yes, sir.  I never was in charge of a camp before, so you must tell me what to do.”

“Oh, make me your lieutenant and I’ll tell you,” pleaded Horace.  “I know all about it.”

“You can give orders all right,” grunted Bill, “there’s no doubt about that.  I see myself lugging wood.”

All laughed heartily at this reference to Horace’s fondness for commanding, and the younger of the comrades replied;

“All right, Horace, you may be my lieutenant.  Only you must tell me what there is to be done, and I will give the orders.”

Although by this arrangement the youngest of the party would be deprived of most of his powers, he readily agreed, saying: