"Well," said Frank, as they finally met, "I was beginning to get
worried about you, even though I knew you could manage a horse all
right. It was a lively run, I should say," as he glanced at the
foam-streaked flanks of the gloss black.
"As fierce a dash as I ever want to take," answered Bob, patting his
horse gently.
"Did you find out what ailed him?" asked the other.
"After I'd spent some time trying to keep from being thrown, I did."
As he said this Bob drew the thorn from his pocket, and held it before
Frank, who took the vicious little thing in his hand.
"I thought so," he muttered. "That's Peg's idea of getting even with
us; the coward!"
"But you don't mean to say Peg did that?" exclaimed Bob, astonished.
"Well, not with his own hand. He wouldn't know how, you see; but he
had a Mexican cowboy along with him who is up to all these
tricks--Spanish Joe. When we were busy in that store, he crept up and
fixed this thorn under your saddle. Of course, as soon as you sprang
into your seat, your weight just drove one of these tough little points
in deeper. And, as the horse jumped, every movement was so much more
torture. Get onto it, Bob?"
"Sure I do; and I guessed all that while riding back. But tell me, why
did he pick out _my_ horse, instead of your Buckskin?" asked the
Kentucky boy.
"Look back a little. Who was it gave Peg his little tumble when he was
striking that child? Why, of course it was nobody but Bob Archer.
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