instant Alcatraz waited for the sting of the spurs, the resounding
crack of the heavy quirt, the voice of the rider raised in curses; but
all was silence. The very feel of the man in the saddle was different,
not so much in poundage as in a certain exquisite balance which he
maintained but the pause lasted no longer than a second after the
welcome daylight flashed on the eyes of Alcatraz. Fear was a spur
to him, fear of the unknown. He would have veritably welcomed the
brutalities of Cordova simply because they were familiar--but this
silent and clinging burden? He flung himself high in the air, snapped
up his back, shook himself in mid-leap, and landed with every leg
stiff. But a violence which would have hurled another man to the
ground left Perris laughing. And were beasts understood, that laughter
was a shameful mockery!

Alcatraz thrust out his head. In vain Perris tugged at the reins. The
lack of curb gave him no pry on the jaw of the chestnut and sheer
strength against strength he was a child on a giant. The strips of
leather burned through his fingers and the first great point of the
battle was decided in favor of the horse: he had the bit in his teeth.
It was a vital advantage for, as every one knows who has struggled
with a pitching horse, it cannot buck with abandon while its chin is
tucked back against its breast; only when the head is stretched out
and the nose close to the ground can a bucking horse double back and
forth to the full of his agility, twisting and turning and snapping as
an "educated" bucker knows how.

And Alcatraz knew, none so well! The deep exclamation of dismay from
the rider was sweetest music to his malicious ears, and, in sheer joy
of action, he rushed down the hollow at full speed, bucking "straight"
and with never a trick attempted, but when the first ecstasy cleared
from his brain he found that Perris was still with him, riding light
as a creature of mist rather than a solid mass of bone and muscle--in
place of jerking and straining and wrenching, in place of plying the
quirt or clinging with the tearing spurs, he was riding "straight up"
and obeying every rule of that unwritten code which prescribes the
manner in which a gentleman cowpuncher shall combat with his horse for
superiority. Again that thrill of terror of the unknown passed through
the stallion; could this apparently weaponless enemy cling to him
in spite of his best efforts? He would see, and that very shortly.
Witho