She felt the reins jerked out of her hands and the saddle propel her
upward. When she descended it was to meet that before-experienced jolt.

"Look!" cried Flo. "That bronc is going to pitch."

"Hold on, Carley!" yelled Glenn.

Desperately Carley essayed to do just that. But Spillbeans jolted her out
of the saddle. She came down on his rump and began to slide back and down.
Frightened and furious, Carley tried to hang to the saddle with her hands
and to squeeze the mustang with her knees. But another jolt broke her hold,
and then, helpless and bewildered, with her heart in her throat and a
terrible sensation of weakness, she slid back at each upheave of the
muscular rump until she slid off and to the ground in a heap. Whereupon
Spillbeans trotted off toward the water.

Carley sat up before Glenn and Flo reached her. Manifestly they were
concerned about her, but both were ready to burst with laughter. Carley
knew she was not hurt and she was so glad to be off the mustang that, on
the moment, she could almost have laughed herself.

"That beast is well named," she said. "He spilled me, all right. And I
presume I resembled a sack of beans."

"Carley--you're--not hurt?" asked Glenn, choking, as he helped her up.

"Not physically. But my feelings are."

Then Glenn let out a hearty howl of mirth, which was seconded by a loud