Jacqueline gave a little cry and Jean covered her cousin's eyes with her hands. There was a pain in Jack's shoulder that was wrenching and tearing at her, but it was nothing to the feeling that Harry's words created. "It can't be true," she sobbed. "I couldn't have hurt my pony like that." But it was true, for Harry and Frank had Hotspur on the level ground and the little pony lay moaning and neighing pitifully. There was only moonlight to show what had happened, but Jack flung herself down beside him and her tears fell in his shaggy mane. "What can we do?" she begged. "Doesn't any one know how to set a pony's leg?" Harry shook his head. "You know it's hopeless, Jack. There is but one thing to do for Hotspur. I can ride back to the ranch for help, but it would only prolong his pain." "You mean you must shoot him, don't you, Harry?" Jack asked. Jean and Frank both turned away their heads. Even in the moonlight, they could see that Jack's face was ghastly white and her lips almost blue. Only Jean knew how much Jacqueline cared for her pony; he had been her father's gift and for the past three years Jack had hardly ever ridden any other horse, unless Hotspur were too weary to carry her. The thought that her own heedlessness and obstinacy had brought the disaster only made it the harder to bear. Harry nodded. "It's the only way, Jack, you know." "All right," Jack answered briefly. "Be quick." Jean's tears were blinding her but Jack looked straight ahead. "Take the girls toward home with you, Frank," Harry suggested. "I'll come afterwards." "I would rather wait until it is over," Jack begged. "It is my fault that this has happened and I won't go away like a coward, Hotspur would like to hear my voice until the end." Jack felt her eyes burn and her throat swell as now and then she patted the quivering broncho. Jean led her cousin a short distance off, but Jack's eyes never left her pony. She saw Harry get out his pistol, load it and point straight at Hotspur. A single shot rang out, a long tremor ran through the horse's body, a single sound like a sigh shook it and Jack's best beloved friend and servant was gone forever. "Take me back to the ranch, please," she whispered hoarsely, all her courage gone. Harry lifted her on his broncho and for a time walked beside her. Then Frank changed places and Harry rode. For a part of the time, Jack cried silently. She had not mentioned the pain in her arm, although it grew stiffer each moment, but now and then she winced. "You are hurt, aren't you, Miss Ralston?" Frank questioned. "I was afraid you were all along." But Jack shook her head; she could think of nothing but Hotspur.