that somehow helped Betty to hold on to her fast vanishing courage.
"Kick your feet out of the stirrups, Betty!"
What he meant finally seeped into Betty's clouded brain. She realized that Bob Henderson, her chum, the boy she had learned to have such confidence in, was coming down that bank in mighty strides, prepared to save her if it was possible.
The gray horse was struggling and snorting; he was likely to tumble sideways at any moment. If he did, and Betty was caught under him
But she was not caught in any such crushing pressure. It was Bob's arm around her waist that squeezed her. She had kicked her feet loose of the stirrups, and now Bob, throwing himself backward, tore her out of the saddle. He fell upon his back, and Betty, struggling and laughing and almost crying, fell on top of him.
"All right, Betty! All right!" gasped Bob. "No need to squeal now."
"Who's squealing?" she demanded. "Let me up, do! Are you hurt, Bob?"
"Only the wind knocked out of me. Woof! You all right?"
"Oh, my dear!" shrieked Bobby at the top of the bank. "Are you killed, Betty?"
"Only half killed," gasped Betty. "Don't worry. Spread the news. Elizabeth Gordon,
