ommanded Allis, standing between
Shandy and the horse, and drawing the whip back over her left shoulder,
ready to give it to Diablo full in the throat should he charge again.

Cowed, the boy clambered through the opening. Enraged at the sight of
his assailant's escape, the horse gave another scream of defiance and
sought with striking forefeet and spread jaws to pull down this new
enemy. Not until then had Allis thought of calling for help; her one
idea had been for the boy's safety.

Like a flash the full peril of the situation dawned upon her; perhaps
her life would be given for the boy who well deserved his punishment.
She had seen two stallions fight, and knew that their ferocious
natures, once roused, could only be quelled by a force stronger than she
possessed. Yes, surely she would be killed-her young life trampled
out by the frenzied animal. Incoherently but altogether these thoughts
filled her mind; also the knowledge that Mike was beyond hearing.

"Help, Mortimer!" she called.

He heard it as he reached the stable door. Even then he would have been
too late had not other rescue come more quickly.

In rushing from Lauzanne's stall Allis had left the door swinging on its
hinges. At the first cry of defiance from the black stallion Lauzanne
had stretched high his head and sent back, with curled nostril, an
answering challenge. Then with ears cocked he had waited for a charge
from his natural enemy. When the mingled call of his mistress and
Diablo's bugle note came to him he waited no longer, but rushed across
the passage and seized the black horse by the crest just as he was
overpowering the girl.

It was at that instant Mortimer reached the scene--in his hand a stable
fork he had grabbed as he raced down the passage. Even Lauzanne's
attack, though it gave Allis a respite, would not have saved her life;
the madly fighting horses would have kicked and trampled her to death.

"My God! Back, back, you devils!" And pushing, crowding, hugging the
side of the stall, Mortimer fought his way to the girl.

Once Diablo's hoof shot out and the man's left arm, snapping like a
pistol, dropped useless at his side. His brain reeled with the shock.
The oddly swinging arm, dangling like a doll's, with the palm turned
backward, seemed to fascinate him. Why was he there? What was he doing?
Why was he hammering the horses over the head with a stable fork held
tightly in his right hand? He hardly knew; his mind was clouded; h