he animal, a trick that handlers of ugly horses quickly learn to do. He was thus, instead of being hit by the heels of the bronco, neatly boosted through the open door of the car.
The villagers howled with delight as the Overland Rider got up and brushed the dirt from his uniform.
"I have heard it said that incorrigible horses are sometimes made docile by sprinkling a pinch of salt on their tails," observed Elfreda Briggs to her companions.
"Remonstrate with the beast, Hippy. He is educated," suggested Emma Dean.
"Hippy, my darlin', do be careful," begged Nora as her husband limped up the gangway, jaws set, the light of battle in his eyes, his anger rising with every step he took.
Hippy clasped the pony's neck, the rat-tat-tat of the animal's heels against the side of the car being somewhat reminiscent of machine-gun fire to the Overland girls.
"He'll be killed!" wailed Nora.
"Who? The pony?" asked Emma in an unruffled voice.
"No! What do I care about th