upon the scene.

But the battle had waned. Twice Diablo had been pulled to his knees,
forced down by the fierce strength that was Lauzanne's; the Black was
all but conquered. The Trainer's voice checked Lauzanne's fury; even the
boy had plucked up courage to return; and between them the Chestnut was
driven into his stall. All the fight had been taken out of Diablo. He
struggled to his feet, and stood trembling like a horse that had come
out of a fierce cutting race. On his neck were the marks of Lauzanne's
teeth, where they had snapped like the jaws of a trap; from his crest
trickled a red stream that dripped to the floor like water from a
running eave. All the fierce fire of hate had gone from his eyes. He
hung his head dejectedly, and his flanks quivered. Lauzanne, too, bore
evidence of the vicious strife. On one quarter, where Diablo's sharp
hoof had ripped, was a cut as though he had been lashed with a sickle,
and his withers were torn.

Mortimer and Allis had come out of the stall. The man, exhausted by the
struggle, leaned wearily, with pale, drawn face, against the wall; the
floor seemed slipping from under him; he felt a sensation of swiftly
passing off into nothingness. He was sleepy, that was all; but a
sleepiness to fight against--he must still fight.

"You are badly hurt." It was the girl's voice. He was almost surprised
that he recognized it, everything was so confused. He answered heavily,
"Yes, I'm--I'm--I want--to lie down."

"Here, lean on my shoulder." It was Mike's voice this time. "This is bad
business," the Trainer was saying; "we must get him out of this; he's
nearly knocked out. Are ye all right, Miss?" turning to Allis.

The wounded man turned guiltily; he had forgotten the girl. Yes, surely
she had been in that hell of noises with him--fighting too.

"I'm just frightened, that's all," answered Allis. "Mr. Mortimer saved
me."

Had he? he wondered. How had he come in there, anyway? His mind refused
to work out the problem; his side was so sore.

"Yer arm's broke," said Mike, passing to Mortimer's right side. "Come,
lean on me, sir. Can ye walk? I'll put ye in the buggy and drive ye to
the house."

At the first step Mortimer staggered and swayed like a drunken man. In
his side were many sharp things pulling him down like grappling irons;
on his head was a great weight that crushed his feet into the hard
planks; his knees gave under this load, and he would have fallen but for
Mike's stron