turned upon the man a look at once sorrowful
and terrible, a look which spelled death and
destruction. Nor did he only look. With a strange
outcry, shrill and piercing, awaking the canyon
in unnatural echoes, he whirled in his harness and
reared, reared despite his harness, and struck out
with venomous force. It was quick as a lightning
flash, but, quick as it was, Felipe avoided it. And
it was fortunate that he did. Terror-stricken
and dropping the whip, he sped to the rear, to a
point behind the cart, and there turned amazed
eyes at the pirouetting horse.

What manner of horse was this, he asked himself.
Could it be that this horse, black as night,
was truly of the lower regions? Certainly he
looked it, balancing there on his hind legs, with
his reddened eyes and inflamed nostrils! And--
But what was this? From the corral had come
a shrill nicker, the voice of the aged mare. But
that was not it! With the outcry, seemingly an
answer to the black's maddened outcry, the black
dropped to all-fours again, turning quick ears and
eyes in the direction of the sound! What manner
of horse was this, anyway? Never before had
he seen such a horse! He felt himself go limp.

There is a call in nature that sounds for life
against death. It is a call put forth in innumerable
different tongues around the world, and it
sounds somewhere every second of the day and
darkness -- through jungles, across swamps, down
mountains, over plains, out of valleys. It is a
cry of warning, a cry to disarm foes. It is an

[[106]]

p105 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p106w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p107

v?