he would win, yet fearful of that very thing,
she watched the strife of man skill against
brute strength, keyed up almost to snapping-point.

But her horse did not win. Neither did he
lose. She saw him take up, one after another,
every trick known to those familiar with horses,
and she marveled greatly at his unexpected knowledge
of things vicious. Along one side of the inclosure,
across the side adjacent to it, back along
the side opposite to the second, then forward along
the first again -- thus round the corral -- he writhed
and twisted in mighty effort, bucking and pitching
and whirling and flinging, the while the sun
rose higher in the morning sky. Spectators clambered
down from the fence, stood awhile to relieve
cramped muscles, clambered on the fence again;
but the horse fought on; coat necked with white
slaver, glistening with streaming sweat in the
sunlight, eyes wild, mouth grim, ears back, he
fought on and on till it seemed that he must stop
through sheer exhaustion. But still he fought,
valiantly, holding to the battle until, with a raging,
side-pitching twist, one never before seen, he
lost his footing, plunged to the ground, tore up
twenty feet of earth, crashed headlong into the
fence, ripped out three boards clean as though
struck by lightning -- lay motionless in a crumpled
heap.

The man was thrown. He arose hastily. As
he wiped away his perspiration and grime he saw
blood on his handkerchief. He was bruised and

[[67]]

p066 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p067w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p068

v?