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advancing flood of red and white horned beasts could be stemmed or diverted. Ann, standing facing the oncoming rush, snatched off her broad-brimmed hat and stood waving it frantically, and shrieking at the top of her voice. Canute as successfully commanded the tides!

The herd came thundering on. But just as she had given up all hope, she was aware of a chorus of barking dogs, and the sound of galloping hoofs. Marsh, racing down on the inside of the fence, headed off the mob, who in a few seconds were stampeding out towards the open paddock, leaving Ann and the little girls safe and unharmed. Rodney Marsh, however, was not so fortunate. Swinging round sharply to avoid a charging beast, his horse came crashing to the ground. He was in no danger now from the cattle, for they had passed on, but when his horse rose, Ann saw that he still remained lying where he had fallen. She rushed across to the spot where he lay, but before she reached him he was sitting up, and Dick Holmes was galloping towards them.

“Hurt, Rod?” he called.

Marsh, looking rather white, tried to get on to his feet, and then sank back again.

“The old knee gone again, I think,” he announced laconically.

Holmes and Ann were standing beside him.

“Don’t move then,” said Holmes.

“If I’d been riding Nigger, this wouldn’t have happened.” Marsh’s voice expressed disgust. “It’s good-bye to the polo tournament for me now.”

“Perhaps it isn’t as bad as you think.”

“Bad enough. The knee’s gone all right.”

“Keep still then. We’ll carry you in. Miss Merrill,