At the same instant Bud heard the familiar, unmistakable swish of a rope headed his way.
He flattened himself along Stopper's left shoulder as the loop settled and tightened on the saddle horn, and dropped on to the ground as Stopper whirled automatically to the right and braced himself against the strain.

Bud turned half kneeling, his gun in his hand ready for the shot he expected would follow the rope.

But Stopper was in action-the best ropehorse the Tomahawk had ever owned.

For a few seconds he stood braced, his neck arched, his eyes bright and watchful.

Then he leaped forward, straight at the horse and the rider who was in the act of leveling his gun.