keep your hair on 'til I go write up my tally on Lonny Moore's slate. Then I 'm goin' ride you plumb thin. 'Til you ain't got a tick left in your clockworks; you hear me, fool hoss!"
Tige heard. So did Hilma Ring. She heard and recognized the voice of her enemy. Her blood went cold within her, then hot rage succeeded. Original's foot-falls diminished in the direction of the office up by the street door.
A wild impulse seized the girl. Without giving time for reason it pushed her over the edge of the hay drop. Little Tige snorted in outrage and backed to the length of his bridle rope when a blue dress flashed past his eyes and quick hands flew to unsnap the clasp on his bit ring. Hilma gave a great leap, managed to throw one leg over the saddle just as Tige backed out of the stall. She fought for her seat, and found it and gave the angry horse a cut with the bridle ends as she whirled him round for the door.
Her feet had not found the stirrups and her stockinged knees, with the taut hem of her skirt bound about them, were clamped tight against the saddle flaps when Tige bore her plunging for the street.
Original, hearing the clatter of hoofs, ran
