der, wheeled sharply, attacked with lightning heels,
and darted away again. But again the gray sprang
upon him, ripped his rump a second time, and
sprang off like a fiend. Raging, vindictive, Pat
hurtled after him, and snapped again and again,
drawing hot blood pungent of taste and smell, and
then he leaped aside. But not far enough. The
gray dashed into him, enveloped him in a whirlwind
of clashing teeth and flashing heels, and
wheeled away in a wide circle, screaming to
the heavens, leaving Pat, with a dozen stinging
wounds, dazed and exhausted.

But Pat was quick to recover himself. Also,
he took council. Never had he fought like this.
His battle with the white horse had been brief-brief ??
because of sudden releasing of weeks of
venom stored within him by the white's continuous
nagging, brief because of the white's inability
to spring from each attack in season to protect
himself. But no such sluggishness hampered this
enemy, and he grimly realized that this was a
struggle to the death. But he felt no fear. He
respected the other's craft and wit and strength.
Yet he knew that he himself had strength, while
he realized that strength alone would not conquer.
Craft and wit must serve with strength. Having
strength, he himself must adopt the other qualities,
must adapt himself to the occasion, exercise
wit and craft, wait for openings, feint and
withdraw, feint and attack, until, wearying this
enemy, and puzzling him, there would come the
chance to strike a death-blow. He knew what

[[274]]

p273 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p274w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p275

v?