d to him, but wholly possessed by passion did not seem to
hear, and the Southerner noticed how white and like that of a maniac his
face was. The stick slid to the ground.

"He played he was tired," said Balaam, looking at the Virginian with
glazed eyes. The violence of his rage affected him physically, like some
stroke of illness. "He played out on me on purpose." The man's voice
was dry and light. "He's perfectly fresh now," he continued, and turned
again to the coughing, swaying horse, whose eyes were closed. Not having
the stick, he seized the animal's unresisting head and shook it. The
Virginian watched him a moment, and rose to stop such a spectacle. Then,
as if conscious he was doing no real hurt, Balaam ceased, and turning
again in slow fashion looked across the level, where the runaways were
still visible.

"I'll have to take your horse," he said, "mine's played out on me."

"You ain' goin' to touch my hawss."

Again the words seemed not entirely to reach Balaam's understanding, so
dulled by rage were his senses. He made no answer, but mounted Pedro;
and the failing pony walked mechanically forward, while the Virginian,
puzzled, stood looking after him. Balaam seemed without purpose of going
anywhere, and stopped in a moment. Suddenly he was at work at something.
This sight was odd and new to look at. For a few seconds it had no
meaning to the Virginian as he watched. Then his mind grasped the
horror, too late. Even with his cry of execration and the tiger spring
that he gave to stop Balaam, the monstrosity was wrought. Pedro sank
motionless, his head rolling flat on the earth. Balaam was jammed
beneath him. The man had struggled to his feet before the Virginian
reached the spot, and the horse then lifted his head and turned it
piteously round.

Then vengeance like a blast struck Balaam. The Virginian hurled him to
the ground, lifted and hurled him again, lifted him and beat his face
and struck his jaw. The man's strong ox-like fighting availed nothing.
He fended his eyes as best he could against these sledge-hammer blows
of justice. He felt blindly for his pistol. That arm was caught and
wrenched backward, and crushed and doubled. He seemed to hear his own
bones, and set up a hideous screaming of hate and pain. Then the
pistol at last came out, and together with the hand that grasped it was
instantly stamped into the dust. Once again the creature was lifted and
slung so that he lay across Pedro's saddle a