CHAPTER XXI--A PERIL OF THE SADDLE

Helen and Jennie, as they had promised, kept away from the ridge where the gold-bearing rock had been found. But the next afternoon when Ruth went for a gallop over the hills she chose a direction that would bring her around to the rear of the ledge.

She left her pony and climbed the hill on foot. For some distance along the length of the ledge and toward what was believed to be the richer end, Flapjack and Min had staked out the claims. They followed the two staked by the lame young man and his partner, and "R. Fielding" was on the notice stuck up on the one next to the claims of the mysterious young man and his partner.

"Well, nobody's disturbed them, that is sure. Tom is pounding away just as fast as he can go for Kingman. Dates and time mean much in establishing mining claims, I believe. But if Tom gets to the county office and files on these claims before this other party can get on the site to jump them--if that is what they really mean to do--in the end we ought to be able to get judgment in the courts."

Yet, somehow, she could not believe that "the hermit" was the sort of man who would do anything crooked. Satisfied that none of the stakes had been disturbed she returned to her pony and started him into the east again.

In a few moments she found herself following that half-defined path that she had ridden on the day she had first seen the secret cabin and the lame man in it. She had never mentioned this adventure to any of the girls. Ruth was, by nature, cautious without being really secretive. And when a second person was a party to any secret she was not the girl to chatter.

She hesitated, if the pony did not, in following this route. Half a dozen times she might have pulled out and taken a side turn, or ridden into another arroyo and so escaped seeing that hidden cabin again.

It must be confessed, however, that Ruth Fielding was curious. Very curious indeed. And she had reason to be. The gymnasium cap she had seen in "the hermit's" cabin pointed to a most astounding possibility. She had not believed in the first place that "the hermit" was entirely alone in this wild and lonely spot. Now he had admitted the existence of a partner. Who was it?

She was deep in thought as her pony carried her at an easy canter down into the arroyo at the far end of which the cabin stood. Suddenly her mount lifted his head and challenged.

"Whoa! what's the matter with you? What are you squealing at?" demanded Ruth, tightening her grasp on the reins.

She glanced around and saw nothing at first. Then the pony squealed again, and as it did so there came an answering equine hail from the mesquite. There was a crash in the bushes; then out upon the open ground charged the lone stallion that had the day before troubled the picture making company.

There was good blood in the handsome brute. He was several hands higher than the cow pony, and his legs were as slender and shapely as a Morgan's. His muzzle was as glossy as satin; his nostrils a deep red and he blew through them and expanded them with ears pricked forward and yellow teeth bared--making altogether a striking picture, but one that Ruth Fielding would much rather have seen on the screen than here in reality.

She raised her quirt and brought it down upon her pony's flank. He sprang forward under the lash but was not quick enough to escape the mad stallion. That brute got directly in the path and they collided.

Ruth was almost unseated, while the clashing teeth of the free horse barely grazed her legging. He snapped again at the rump of the plunging pony, but missed.

The girl was seriously frightened. What Ben Lester and the other cowpuncher had said about the stallion seemed to be true. Did he have hydrophobia just the same as a dog that runs mad?

Whether the beast was afflicted with the rabies or not, Ruth did not want either herself or the pony bitten. She had seen enough of half-tamed horses on Silver Ranch in Montana to know that there is scarcely an animal more savage than a wild stallion.

And if this black and white beast had eaten of the loco weed which, in some sections of the Southwest is quite common, he was much more dangerous than the bear Min Peters had shot as they came over from Yucca.

She tried to start her pony along the bottom of the arroyo on the back track; but the squealing stallion had got around behind them and again charged with open jaws, the froth flying from his curled-back lips.

So she wheeled her mount, clinging desperately with her knees to his heaving sides, and once more lashed him with the quirt.

Since she had ridden him that first day out of Yucca Ruth had been in the saddle almost every day since; but so far she had never had occasion to use the whip on her pony. He was a spirited bit of horseflesh, not much more than half the size of the stallion. The quirt embittered him.

Although he wheeled to run, facing down the arroyo again, he began to buck instead. His heels suddenly were thrown out and just grazed the stallion's nose, while Ruth came close to flying out of her saddle and over his head.

If she was once unhorsed Ruth suddenly realized that her fate would be sealed. The stallion rose up on his hind legs, squealing and whistling, and struck at her with his sharp hoofs.

It was a moment of grave peril for Ruth Fielding.

Again and again she beat her mount, and again and again he went up into the air, landing stiff-legged, and with all four feet close together. Then she swung the stinging lash across the face of the stallion.

It was a cruel blow and it laid open the satiny, black skin of the angry brute right across his nose. He squealed and fell back. The pony whirled and again Ruth struck at their common enemy.

Lashing the stallion seemed a better thing than punishing her own frightened mount, and as the mad horse circled her the girl struck again and again, once cutting open the stallion's shoulder and drawing blood in profusion.

The fight was not won so easily, however. The pony danced around and around trying to keep his heels to the stallion; the latter endeavored to get in near enough to use either his fore-hoofs in striking, or his teeth to tear the girl or her mount.

And then Ruth unexpectedly heard a shout. Somebody at the top of his voice ordered her to "Lie down on his neck--I'm going to fire!"

She saw nothing; she had no idea where this prospective rescuer stood; but she was wise enough to obey. She seized the pony's mane and lay as close to his neck as possible. The next instant the report of a heavy rifle drowned even the squealing of the stallion.

He had risen on his hind feet, his fore-hoofs beating the air, the foam flying from his lips, his yellow teeth gleaming. A more frightful, threatening figure could scarcely be imagined, it seemed to the girl of the Red Mill in her dire peril.

At the rifle shot he toppled over backward, crashing to the earth with a scream that was almost human. There he lay on his back for a minute.

Out of the brush hobbled the young man named Royal. He was getting around without his crutches now. The gun in his hand was still smoking.

"Have you a rope?" he shouted. "If you have I'll noose him."

"No. I haven't a rope, though Ann is always telling me never to ride without one in this country."

"I think she's right--whoever Ann is," said the young man, with that humorous twist to his features that Ruth so liked. "A rope out here is handier than a little red wagon. Come on, quick! I only creased that stallion. He may not have had the fight all taken out of him--the ferocious beast!"

The black and white horse was already trying to struggle to his feet. Perhaps he was not badly hurt. Ruth controlled her pony, and he was headed down the arroyo.

"Where is your horse, Mr. Royal?" she asked the lame young man.

He started and looked a little oddly at her when she called him that; but he replied:

"My horse is down at the cabin. I was just trying my legs a little. Glory! I almost turned my ankle again that time."

He was hobbling pretty badly now, for he had been too excited while shooting the mad stallion to be careful of his lame ankle. Ruth was out of the saddle in a moment.

"Get right up here," she commanded. "We'll get to your cabin and be safe. I can go back to camp by another way."

"Not alone," he declared, firmly, as he scrambled into her place on the pony. "I'll ride with you. That beast is not done for yet."

But the stallion did not pursue them. He stood rather wabblingly and shook his head, and turned in slow circles as though he were dazed. The rifle shot had not, however, permanently injured him.

They were quickly out of the sight of the scene of Ruth's peril. The young man looked down at her, trudging hot and dusty beside the pony, and his face crinkled into a broad smile again.

"You're some girl," he said. "I'd dearly love to know your name and just who you are. My--That is, my partner says you are a bunch of movie actors over there at Freezeout. But, of course, that old-timer who was up on the ridge and the girl in--er--overalls, were not actors. How about you?"

"Yes," said Ruth, amusedly. "I act. Sometimes."

"Get out!"

"I did. Out of my saddle to give you my seat. You should be more polite."

He burst into open laughter at this. "You're all right," he declared. "Do you mind telling me your name?"

"Fielding. Miss Fielding, Mr. Royal."

He grinned at her wickedly. "You've got only half of _my_ name," he said.

"Indeed?" she cried. "Yes, I suppose, like other people, you must have a first name."

"I have a last name," he chuckled.

"What?" Ruth gasped. "Isn't Royal----"

"That is what I was christened. Phelps is the rest of it--Royal Phelps."

"I knew it! I felt it!" declared Ruth, stopping in the trail and making the pony stop, too. "You are Edith Phelps' brother. I was puzzled as I could be, for I believed, since the first day I met you, that must be so and that she had been with you at that cabin."

"Why," he asked curiously, "how did you come to know my sister?"

"Go to college with her," said Ruth, shortly, and moving on again. "And she was on the train with us coming West."

"And you did not know where she was coming? Of course not! It was a secret."

"She knew where _we_ were coming," said Ruth, briefly.

"Then you're not a movie actress?"

"I'm a freshman at Ardmore. But I do act--once in a while. There are a party of us girls from Ardmore, with one of the teachers, roughing it at Freezeout Camp. The movie people are there, too. We are acquainted with them."

"Well, I'm mighty sorry my sister isn't here----"

"Is she your partner, Mr. Phelps?" Ruth asked.

"Sure thing! And a bully good one. When I was hurt and couldn't ride so far, she set off alone to find her way over the trails to Kingman."

"Oh!" Ruth cried. "Aren't you worried about her? Have you heard----?"

"Not a word. But it isn't time yet. Edith is a smart girl," declared the brother with confidence. "She'll make it all right. I don't expect her back for a week yet."

"Oh! but we expect Tom----"

"What Tom?" asked Phelps, suspiciously.

"My chum's brother. He started--started day before yesterday--for Kingman to file on our claims. We expect him back in ten days, or two weeks at the longest. Why, we shall probably be all through taking the pictures by that time!"

"Look here, Miss Fielding," said the young man, his face suddenly gloomy. "Can't you fix it so we can buy up your claims along that ridge? It means a lot to me."

"Why, Mr. Phelps!" exclaimed Ruth, "don't you suppose it means something to the rest of us? If it is really a valuable gold deposit."

"Not what it means to me," he returned soberly, and rode in silence the rest of the way to the cabin.