But never did the iron hold on the bridle loosen, and the man was light on his feet as a boy.

Finally he had his chance, and with the lightest spring I ever saw at a saddle skirt, up he went and nailed old Satan fair, with a grip which ridged his legs out.

I saw then that he was a rider.

His head was bare, his hat having fallen off; his hair was tumbled, but his color scarcely heightened.

As the horse lunged and bolted about the street, Orme sat him in perfect confidence.