Shouting after the runaway, and shrieking advice to The Fox, who still
clung to the reins, was of no particular use, and Tom Cameron realized
that as well as did Jane Ann. The boy from the East picked himself up
and leaped upon the rear of the second buckboard as it passed him, and
they tore on after the frightened ponies.
Mary Cox could not hold them. She was not a good horsewoman, in any
case; and a moment after the ponies broke loose, she was just as
frightened as ever she could be.
She did not drop the lines; that was because she did not think to do so.
She was frozen with terror. The ponies plunged along the narrow trail,
weaving the buckboard from side to side, and Mary was helpless to stop
them. On the rear seat Helen and Ruth clung together in the first shock
of fear; the threatening catastrophe, too, appalled them.
But only for the first few seconds was Ruth inactive. Behind the
jouncing vehicle Tom was shouting to them to "pull 'em down!" Ruth
wrenched herself free from her chum's grasp and leaned forward over the
seat-back.
"Give the reins to me!" she cried in Mary's ear, and seized the leathers
just as they slipped from the hands of The Fox.
Ruth gripped them firmly and flung herself back into her own seat. Helen
seized her with one hand and saved her from being thrown out of the
pitching vehicle. And so, with her chum holding her into her seat, Ruth
swung all her weight and force against the ponies' bits.
At first this seemed to have not the least effect upon the frightened
animals. Ruth's slight weight exercised small pressure on those iron
jaws. On and on they dashed, rocking the buckboard over the rough
trail--and drawing each moment nearer to that perilous elbow in the
canyon!
Ruth realized the menacing danger of that turn in the trail from the
moment the beasts first jumped. There was no parapet at the outer edge
of the shelf--just the uneven, broken verge of the rock, with the awful
drop to the roaring river below.
She remembered this in a flash, as the ponies tore on. There likewise
passed through her mind a vision of the chum beside her, crushed and
mangled at the bottom of the canyon--and again, Helen's broken body being
swept away in the river! And The Fox--the girl who had so annoyed
her--would likewise be killed unless she, Ruth Fielding, found some means
of averting the catastrophe.
It was a fact that she did not think of her own danger. Mainly the
runaway ponies held her attention. _She must stop them before they
reached the fatal turn!_
Were the ponies giving way a little? Was it possible that her steady,
desperate pulling on the curbs was having its effect? The pressure on
their iron jaws must have been severe, and even a half-broken mustang
pony is not entirely impervious to pain.
But the turn in the road was so near!
Snorting and plunging, the animals would--in another moment--reach the
elbow. Either they must dash themselves headlong over the precipice, and
the buckboard would follow, or, in swerving around the corner, the
vehicle and its three passengers would be hurled over the brink.
And then something--an inspiration it must have been--shot athwart Ruth's
brain. The thought could not have been the result of previous knowledge
on her part, for the girl of the Red Mill was no horsewoman. Jane Ann
Hicks might have naturally thought to try the feat; but it came to Ruth
in a flash and without apparent reason.
She dropped the left hand rein, stood up to seize the right rein with a
shorter grip, and then flung herself back once more. The force she
brought to bear on the nigh pony by this action was too much for him.
His head was pulled around, and in an instant he stumbled and came with
a crash to the ground!
The pony's fall brought down his mate. The runaway was stopped just at
the turn of the trail--and so suddenly that Mary Cox was all but flung
headlong upon the struggling animals. Ruth and Helen _did_ fall out of
the carriage--but fortunately upon the inner side of the trail.
Even then the maddened, struggling ponies might have cast themselves--and
the three girls likewise--over the brink had not help been at hand. At
the turn appeared Jib Pottoway, his pony in a lather, recalled by the
sound of the runaways' drumming hoofs. The Indian flung himself from the
saddle and gripped the bridles of the fallen horses just in season. Bob,
driving the second pair of ponies with a firm hand, brought them to a
halt directly behind the wreck, and Tom and Jane Ann ran to Jib's
assistance.
"What's the matter with these ponies?" demanded the Indian, sharply.
"How'd they get in this shape? I thought you could drive a pair of
hawses, boy?" he added, with scorn, looking at Tom.
"I got out to buckle a strap and they got away," said Tom, rather
sheepishly.
"Don't you scold him, Jib!" commanded Jane Ann, vigorously. "He ain't to
blame."
"Who is?"
"That girl yonder," snapped the ranchman's niece, pointing an accusing
finger at Mary Cox. "I saw her start 'em on the run while Tom was on the
ground."
"Never!" cried The Fox, almost in tears.
"You did," repeated Jane Ann.
"Anyway, I didn't think they'd start and run so. They're dangerous. It
wasn't right for the men to give us such wild ponies. I'll speak to Mr.
Hicks about it."
"You needn't fret," said Jane Ann, sternly. "I'll tell Uncle Bill all
right, and I bet you don't get a chance to play such a trick again as
long as you're at Silver Ranch----"
Ruth, who had scrambled up with Helen, now placed a restraining hand on
the arm of the angry Western girl; but Jane Ann sputtered right out:
"No! I won't keep still, Ruth Fielding. If it hadn't been for you that
Mary Cox would now be at the bottom of these rocks. And she'll never
thank you for saving her life, and for keeping her from killing you and
Helen. She doesn't know how to spell gratitude! Bah!"
"Hush up, Jinny," commanded Jib, easily. "You've got all that off your
mind now, and you ought to feel some better. The ponies don't seem to be
hurt much. Some scraped, that's all. We can go on, I reckon. You ride my
hawse, Mr. Cameron, and I'll sit in yere and drive. Won't trust these
gals alone no more."
"I guess you could trust Ruth Fielding all right," cried the loyal Tom.
"She did the trick--and showed how plucky she is in the bargain. Did you
ever see anything better done than the way she threw that pony?"
Jane Ann ran to the girl of the Red Mill and flung her arms around her
neck.
"You're just as brave as you can be, Ruthie!" she cried. "I don't know
of anybody who is braver. If you'd been brought up right out here in the
mountains you couldn't have done any better--could she, Jib?"
"Miss Fielding certainly showed good mettle," admitted the Indian, with
one of his rare smiles. "And now we'll go on to the camping place. Don't
let's have any more words about it, or your fun will all be spoiled.
Where's Ricardo, with the camp stuff? I declare! that Greaser is five
miles behind, I believe."
With which he clucked to the still nervous ponies and, Tom now in the
lead, the procession started on in a much more leisurely style.