I think if the weed had had a
fair field that Ollie would never have overtaken it, but it got
caught in the long grass occasionally, and he soon came up to it.
But the pony was not used to tumbleweed-coursing, and shied off
with a startled snort. Ollie brought her about and made another
attempt. But again the frightened pony ran around it. Half a
dozen times this was repeated. At last she happened to dash
around it on the wrong side just as it bounded into the air
before the wind. It struck both horse and rider like a big
dry-land wave, and Ollie seized it. If the poor pony had been
frightened before, she was now terror-stricken, and gave a jump
like a tiger, and shot away faster than we had ever seen her run
before. Ollie had lost control of her, and could only cling to
the saddle with one hand and hold to the big blundering weed with
the other. Fortunately the pony ran toward the wagon. As they
came up we could see little but tumbleweed and pony legs, and it
looked like nothing so much as a hay-stack running away on its
own legs.
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