CHAPTER XII

IN PERIL

Ruth’s pony snorted in terror. With a toss of its head, the animal reared backward, almost losing its balance, then galloped wildly back toward the corrals.

Ruth was living through a nightmare. She tried to move, but found that her legs would not respond to her command. What use to run, anyway, when there was no possible hope of escape? She felt numb, frozen with terror.

Muffled by the thunder of pounding hoofs she did not hear the rider approaching from behind, was not aware of him until a horse swung up beside her, all plunging hoofs and waving mane.

Layton Boardman leaned wide of his horse, swept an arm toward Ruth.

“Into the saddle--quick!” he shouted. “One chance left!”

It was a magnificent gesture and would have been successful had not the pony, maddened by terror, reared on its hind feet, flinging over backward.

Boardman was not prepared for the sudden motion, was flung from his saddle and sprawled motionless on the ground. Ruth moaned.

That horrible sea of steers was almost upon them. In a moment she would be lying there, too!

Came the noise of shouting behind her. A shot cracked out and the nearest steer fell, kicking and plowing up the turf.

Another report and another. Other steers fell, and those rushing up behind stumbled over them and fell, a kicking, snorting mass. Something was wrong. The packed mass of steers wavered, hesitated, then divided and swept on in two great trampling streams.

Ruth watched them in a daze, so numbed with fear that for a moment she scarcely realized she was safe.

Then Tom was beside her, Tom’s arms about her, steadying her, Tom’s voice, gruff and anxious:

“You aren’t hurt, Ruth? You’re all right?”

She nodded. Then lifted her white face to him.

“Did you--were you the one who fired the shots?”

“One of the ones,” he replied, modest as always. “For the rest you’ll have to thank these boys. They sure are classy marksmen.”

Then, for the first time, Ruth saw the group of cowboys that had surrounded them in sympathetic interest. She drew away from Tom selfconsciously and looked toward Layton Boardman.

The latter had got to his feet. Blood flowed from a wound on his forehead where he had struck a stone in falling and he swayed so dizzily that one of the cowboys put an arm about his shoulders to support him.

“I’m all right,” said the actor, evidently impatient with himself for allowing the horse to throw him. “Never mind about me, lad.”

He tried to take a step forward, brought up, amazed, while his face went white with pain.

Ruth stepped forward involuntarily.

“What is it? Are you hurt?” she cried.

Boardman shook his head and tried to smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched painfully.

“Not much, I guess. Just some trouble with my ankle. All right--in a minute--” He tried to step again, but once more drew up and dubiously shook his head.

“Can’t do it, boys. Any one got a hoss that ain’t working?”

There were a dozen offers, for the cowboys were thoroughly beneath the spell of Layton Boardman. The latter was able with only slight aid to swing himself to the back of one of the ponies. He sat there, one foot in the stirrup, the other dangling, as fine a picture of wounded hero as one would wish to see.

Ruth walked over to his pony’s side and put her hand up frankly.

“I want to thank you for what you tried to do for me,” she said softly. “I want you to know that I fully appreciate it.”

Boardman grasped the proffered hand and met Ruth’s friendly glance with a direct one of his own.

“To see you safe,” he said simply, “is all the thanks I need.”

Then he was gone, surrounded by a group of cowboys.

Ruth’s horse had been rounded up and brought back to her. She mounted silently, feeling weak and exhausted after her terrifying experience.

Tom mounted also and they started back toward the ranch.

Suppose Layton Boardman, their leading man, were badly hurt? Men had been permanently lamed by no worse an accident than he had had, and it would be impossible to get another in his place this late--not for a considerable time, at any rate.

And, in the meantime, even delay might be serious, with Viola drawing her salary whether she worked or not, as did, for that matter, all the rest of them.

Oh, well, Ruth shrugged off the weight of anxiety. Boardman would probably be all right in a day or two. Only a slight sprain probably.

She looked at Tom, jogging along silently beside her. He looked tired and very grave and suddenly her heart smote her. Why, she had never even thanked him for his very important part in her rescue!

“Tom,” she said, “it was magnificent of you to do what you did!”

He looked up, surprised.

“I couldn’t have done anything else,” he said quietly.