Let go!" he roared to the boy holding the pony.
But by this time Phil had fastened his right hand on the pony's
nostrils, and with a quick pressure shut off the animal's wind.
He had heard the warning cry. The lad's grit had been aroused,
however, and he was determined that he would not let go until he
should have conquered the fighting broncho.
With a squeal of rage, the pony leaped sideways. A deep ditch
led along by the side of the road, but this the enraged animal
had not noticed. Into it he went, kicking and fighting, pieces
of Phil's yellow robe streaming from his hoofs.
The lad's body was half under the neck of the pony, but he was
clinging to the neck and the nose of the beast with desperate
courage.
"Get the boy out of there!" thundered Mr. Sparling, dashing up
and leaping from his pony. "Want to let him be killed?"
By this time others had ridden up, and some of the real horsemen
in the outfit sprang off and rushed to Phil Forrest's assistance.
Ropes were cast over the flying hoofs before the men thought it
wise to get near them. Then they hauled Phil out, very much the
worse for wear.
In the meantime Mr.
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