the rush of the ice-cold waters fresh from the mountain snow fields.

He had almost made up his mind to take his chances with the fall, when a
clear cry came ringing to him:

"_No suelte!_"

A figure was flying down the slope toward him--the slim, graceful form
of a woman. As she ran she caught up a stick from the ground. This she
held out to him from the bank.

He shook his head.

"I would only drag you in."

She put her fingers to her mouth and gave a clear whistle. Far up on the
slope a pony lifted its head and nickered. Again her whistle shrilled,
and the bronco trotted down toward her.

"Can you hold on?" she asked in English.

He was chilled to the marrow, but he answered quietly: "I reckon."

She was gone, swift-footed as a deer, to meet the descending animal. He
saw her swing to the saddle and lean over it as the pace quickened to a
gallop.

He did not know her fingers were busy preparing the rawhide lariat that
depended from the side of the saddle. On the very bank she brought up
with a jerk that dragged her mount together, and at the same moment