For it was obvious to him that the girl
was going to miss the train by hardly more than that.
But she had not given up. She had dropped her head again and was
rushing straight toward the side of the string of cars. Greek held his
breath, a swift alarm for her making his heart beat trippingly. He did
not see how she could stop in time.
Again a clamor of voices from the heads thrust out of car windows,
warning, calling, cheering. And then suddenly Greek sat back limply.
The thing had been so impossible and in the end so amazingly simple.
Not ten feet away from the train she had drawn in her horse's reins,
"setting up" the half-broken animal upon his four feet, bunched
together so that with the momentum he had acquired he slid almost to
the cars. As he stopped the girl swung lightly from the saddle and,
seeming scarcely to have put foot upon the sandy soil, caught the
hand-rail as the car came by and swung on to the lowest step. The man
behind her caught up her horse's reins, whirled, sweeping his hat off
to her, and turned back.
"Which is some riding, huh?" chuckled the fat man, his own head
withdrawn as he reached for his beer-glass.
"What's the excitement?" Roger's interest had not been great enough to
send him to the window.
"Some people trying to catch the train," Greek told him, shortly. For
some reason, not clear to himself, he did not care to be more
definite.
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