Chapter 17
THE SWOOP OF THE HAWK"JACK! the saddle's slipping!" cried Mescal, clinging closer to
him. "What luck!" Hare muttered through clinched teeth, and pulled
hard on the bridle. But the mouth of the stallion was iron;
regardless of the sawing bit, he galloped on. Hare called steadily:
"Whoa there, Silver! Whoa— slow now—whoa—easy!" and finally halted
him. Hare swung down, and as he lifted Mescal off, the saddle
slipped to the ground.
"Lucky not to get a spill! The girth snapped. It was wet, and
dried out." Hare hurriedly began to repair the break with buckskin
thongs that he found in a saddle-bag.
"Listen! Hear the yells!" Oh! hurry!" cried Mescal.
"I've never ridden bareback. Suppose you go ahead with Silver,
and I'll hide in the cedars till dark, then walk home!"
"No—N
