Sunset Ranch: A Story of a Boy's Adventures in the West — page 179: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Under the Waning Moon. 167 One pull at the rope left the horse as free as air. Then came a leap such as only a cowboy can give, and he was astride the broncho. “Away, old fellow, and do your prettiest if you ever hope to see Karl again,” he said. Buckskin started. The rest had renewed his zeal, and he seemed to be as fresh as a daisy just plucked. Cuthbert, with the intention of delaying the final discovery as long as possible, kept to the depression; instinctively he also flattened himself out over the horse’s neck in order to baffle the advancing red- skins, who might, for a time, think he was an old prairie ranger, or, perhaps, a warrior of some other tribe. When a resonant shout burst out in his rear, taken up by the rest of the band, he knew his presence was no longer a mystery, and that in all probability the whole outfit was in hot chase. “Now, go it, old Buckskin, and don’t ever have it said an Indian pony bested you on your native heath. - He’ll wear who wins,” said the boy, as he dug both heels into the broncho’s ribs. Conniclooe® cS C@©