His hands gripped the horns of the bull. He was dragged from the saddle into the dust, but his weight deflected the course of the animal. With every ounce of strength given by his rough life in the open the cowboy hung on, dragging the head of the bull down with him toward the ground. Man and beast came to a slithering halt together in a great cloud of dust not ten feet from Ramona. Even now terror held her a prisoner. The brute would free itself and stamp the man to death. A haze gathered before her eyes. She swayed, then steadied herself. Man and bull were fighting desperately, one with sheer strength, the other with strength plus brains and skill. The object of the animal was to free itself. The bull tossed wildly in frantic rage to shake off this incubus that had fastened itself to its horns. The man hung on for life. All his power and weight were centered in an effort to twist the head of the bull sideways and back. Slowly, inch by inch, by the steady, insistent pressure of muscles as well packed as any in Texas, the man began to gain. The bull no longer tossed and flung him at will. The big roan head went down, turned backward, yielded to the pressure on the neck-muscles that never relaxed. The man put at the decisive moment his last ounce of strength into one last twist. The bull collapsed, went down heavily to its side. A second cowboy rode up, roped the bull, and deftly hogtied it. The bulldogger rose and limped forward to the girl leaning whitely against a wall. "Sorry, Miss Wadley. I hadn't ought to have brought the herd through town. We was drivin' to water." "Are you hurt?" Ramona heard her dry, faint voice ask. "Me!" he said in surprise. "Why, no, ma'am." He was a tall, lean youth, sunburned and tough, with a face that looked sardonic. Ramona recognized him now as her father's new foreman, the man she had been introduced to a few days before. Hard on that memory came another. It was this same Jack Roberts who had taken her brother by surprise and beaten him so cruelly only yesterday. "It threw you around so," she murmured. "Sho! I reckon I can curry a li'l ol' longhorn when I have it to do, ma'am," he answered, a bit embarrassed. "Are--are you hurt?" another voice quavered. With a pang of pain Ramona remembered Arthur Ridley. Where had he been when she so desperately needed help? "No. Mr. Roberts saved me." She did not look at Ridley. A queer feeling of shame for him made her keep her eyes averted. "I--went to get help for you," the boy explained feebly. "Thank you," she said. The girl was miserably unhappy. For the boy to whom she had given the largesse of her friendship had fled in panic; the one she hated for bullying and mistreating her brother had flung himself in the path of the furious bull to save her.