"Anywhere. Look out for the big, white cow. The boy's roped to him!"
Big-foot Sanders had heard, and began working like an automatic machine. The way the cattle, big and little, fell away before his plunging pony and ready quirt was an object lesson for those of the Pony Riders who were near enough to see his effort.
In the thick of it was Ned Rector, driving his pony here and there, anxiously watching for the white steer.
"There he is!" shouted Ned, suddenly espying the animal still dashing about.
Forcing his mount through the crowded ranks, Stallings in a moment found himself within reach of the white beast. However, there were three or four cattle between himself and the one he wanted.
The foreman's rope circled in the air above his head, then the great loop squirmed out over the backs of the cattle, dropping lightly over the horns of the white one.
The steer felt the touch of the rope and knew the meaning of it. As the animal sprang forward, Stallings took a quick turn about the pommel of his saddle and the pony braced its fore feet. When the shock came, the cattle over whose backs the rope lay felt it even more than did the pony itself. Three of them were forced to their knees bawling with sudden fright and pain.
The head of the white steer was jerked to one side. A swing of the rope and the steer was thrown heavily.
Ned at the moment, chanced to be nearer than were any of the others to the animal, and to him fell the perilous work of holding down the kicking beast.
He knew exactly what was expected of him, having seen a cowboy hold a steer down for a quick branding that morning.
Without an instant's hesitation he threw himself on the neck of the struggling animal, whose flying hoofs made the attempt doubly dangerous.
This act of Ned enabled Stallings to jump from his pony and run to the lad's assistance, leaving the pony braced to hold the line taut.
The foreman sprang to the rear, where he observed the form of Tad Butler doubled up, lying half under the body of a big, red steer.
Stallings picked him up, quickly cutting the lariat.
"Slip the loops off his horns!" he commanded. "Look out that you don't get pinked by them."
"Lucky if he ain't dead," answered the foreman, hurrying to his pony, which he mounted taking the boy in his arms. By this time Ned had the ropes and had sprung away from the steer's dangerous horns.