CHAPTER XI.
"I'll ride you if it breaks--my neck!" panted Bo, passionately, shaking her gloved fist at the gray pony.
Dale stood near with a broad smile on his face.

Helen was within earshot, watching from the edge of the park, and she felt so fascinated and frightened that she could not call out for Bo to stop.

The little gray mustang was a beauty, clean-limbed and racy, with long black mane and tail, and a fine, spirited head.

There was a blanket strapped on his back, but no saddle.

Bo held the short halter that had been fastened in a hackamore knot round his nose.