"This is--fine training--for Pard!" Pete came to himself, then, and killed the engine before he landed in the bottom of a yawning, water-washed hole, and Lite rode close and slashed Jean's rope, in spite of her protest; whereupon Pard went off up the slope as though witches were riding him hard.
At long rifle range, he circled and faced the thing that had scared him so, and after a little Jean persuaded him to go back as far as the trail.

Nearer he would not stir, so she waited there for Lite.
"Never even thanked us," Lite grumbled when he came up, his mouth stretched in a wide smile.

"That girl with the kalsomine on her face made remarks about folks butting in.

And the fat man talked into his double chin; dunno what all he was saying.

Here's what's left of your rope.