perfect spring of the Arab's
action.

The tusker was bone-still, with that cocked look which means anything
but flight. Skag moved a step forward. His knees touched Nels; his
left hand was stretched back to hold Carlin in her place. There was no
word, no sound--and that was the last second of the tableau.

The tusker broke the picture. Flick of the head, a snort--and he
wasn't there. He wasn't on the lance! His side-charge, with no turn
which the eye could follow, carried him under the point of Ian's thrust
in direct drive at the black Arab's belly.

Kala Khan was standing straight up, yet they heard his scream. The
boar's head seemed on a swivel as he passed beneath. Ian Deal standing
in the stirrups swung forward, one arm round his mount's neck, but
badly out of the saddle. . . . The tusker turned to do it again.

Skag spoke. That was the instant Nels charged. In the same second,
the Arab, still on his hind legs, made a teetering plunge back, to
dodge the second drive of the beast, and Ian Deal fell, head-long on
the far side, his narrow boot locked in the steel stirrup.

Skag spoke again. It was to Kala Khan this time. Nels' smashing drive
at the throat had carried the tusker from under the Arab's feet. His
rumbling challenge had seemed to take up the scream of the horse; it
ended in the piercing squeal of the throated boar.

Skag still talked to Kala Khan, as he moved forward. The Arab stood
braced, facing him now--the tumbled head-down thing to the left, arms
sprawled, face turned away. A thousand to one, among the best mounts,
would have broken before the second charge and thrashed the hanging
head against the ground.

Skag's tones were continuous, his empty hand held out. There was never
a glance of his eye to the battle of the Dane and the beast. Four feet
from his hand was the hanging rein, his eyes to the eyes of the black,
his tones steadily lower, never rising, never ceasing. His loose
fingers closed upon the bridle rein; his free hand pressed the Arab's
cheek.

He felt Carlin beside him and turned--one of the tremendous moments of
life to find her there. (It was like the last instant of the cobra
fight, when he had seen her over the hood--utterly white, utterly
tall.) She took the rein from his hand. Her face turned to Nels'
struggle--but her eyes pressed shut.

Skag stepped to Kala Khan's side, lifted the leather fender, slipped
the cinch, and let the light hunting saddle s