At the same
instant the wolf left the ground with terribly gaping mouth in a spring
for the rider; but Dan flattened himself along the shining back of his
mount and the wolf catapulted harmlessly past.
After this failure the wolf-dog seemed to desire no further active part
in the struggle, but took up a position to one side, and there, with
lolling tongue and red-stained eyes, watched the battle continue. The
stallion, to be sure, kept up the conflict with a whole-hearted energy.
Never had Buck Daniels in a long and varied career seen such wild
pitching. The black leaped here and there, doubling about with the
sinuous speed of a snake, springing high in the air one instant, and
landing the next on stiff legs; dropping to the ground the next second,
and rolling to crush the rider; up again like a leaf jerked up by a gale
of wind, and so the fierce struggle continued, with the wild rider
slapping the neck of the horse as if he would encourage it to more
terrible efforts, and drumming its round barrel with vindictive heels.
His hair blew black; his face flushed; and in his eyes there was the joy
of the sailor, long land-bound, who climbs at last the tallest mast and
feels it pitch beneath him and catches the sharp tang of the travelled
wind.
The struggle ceased as if in obedience to an inaudible command. From the
full frenzy of motion horse and man were suddenly moveless. Then Dan
slipped from his seat and stood before his mount.
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