ver bared and levelled at him, a flickering bit of metal. He knew
well what it meant but there was no hope save to rush on; another
stride and he would be on that frail creature, tearing with his teeth
and crushing with his hoofs. And then a miracle happened. The revolver
was flung aside, a gleaming arc and a splash of sand where it struck;
Red Perris preferred to risk his life rather than end the battle
before it was well begun with a bullet. He crouched over the rope
as though he had braced himself to meet the shock of the charging
stallion. But that was not his purpose. As the stallion rushed on him
he darted to one side and the fore hoof with which Alcatraz struck
merely slashed his shirt down the back.

A feint had saved him, but Alcatraz was no bull to charge blindly
twice. He checked himself so abruptly that he knocked up a shower
of sand, and he turned savagely out of that dust-cloud to end the
struggle. Yet this small, mad creature stood his ground, showed no
inclination to flee. With the rope he was doing strange things, making
it spin in swift spirals, close to the ground. Let him do what he
would, his days were ended. Alcatraz bared his teeth, laid back his
ears, and lunged again. Another miracle! As his forefeet struck
the ground in the midst of one of those wide circles of rope, the
red-headed man lunged back, the circle jumped like a living thing and
coiled itself around both forefeet, between fetlock and hoof. When he
attempted the next leap his front legs crumbled beneath him. At the
very feet of Red Perris he plunged into the sand.

Once more he whirled to regain his lost footing, but as he turned on
his back the rope twisted and whispered above him; the off hind leg
was noosed, and then the near one--Alcatraz lay on his side straining
and snorting but utterly helpless.

Of a sudden he ceased all struggle. About neck and all four hoofs was
the burning grip of the rope, so bitterly familiar, and man had once
again enslaved him. Alcatraz relaxed. Presently there would come a
swift volley of curses, then the whir and cut of the whip--no, for a
great occasion such as this the man would choose a large and durable
club and beat him across the ribs. Why not? Even as he had served
Cordova this man of the flaming hair would now serve him. He was very
like Cordova in one thing. He did not hurry, but first picked up his
revolver and replaced it in its holster, having blown the sand from
the mechanism as well a