[Illustration: "Silas Pine gazed about him with the air of one who is
dazed."]

"Are you badly hurt?" inquired Ridge, as he reached the man's side.

"I don't know," replied Silas, moving his limbs cautiously, and feeling
of various portions of his body to ascertain if any bones were broken.
"Reckon not. But will you kindly tell me what happened?"

"You were breaking in Mr. Van Kyp's horse, and got thrown," replied
Ridge, as gravely as possible, but with an irrepressible smile lurking
in the corners of his mouth.

The bronco-buster, noting this, became instantly filled with wrath.

"Got thrown, did I? And you think it a thing to laugh at, do you?
Well, you wouldn't if you'd been in my place. I claim to know
something about hosses, and I tell you that's not one at all. She's a
'hoss devil,' that's what she is, for all she looks quiet as a sheep.
But I'll kill her yet or die trying to tame her; for such a brute's not
fit to live."

"Won't you let me try my hand at it first?" asked Ridge.

"You? you?" exclaimed the man in contemptuous amazement. "Yes, I will,
for if you are fool enough to tackle her, you are only fit to be
killed, and might as well die now as later. Oh yes, young feller, you
can try it; only leave us a lock of your hair to remember you by, and
we'll give you a first-class funeral."