d not even
buck straight with the bone-breaking energy. He was nearly done, with
a tell-tale wheeze in his lungs, with blood pressure making his eyes
start well-nigh from his head, and a bloody froth choking him. Red
Perris also was in the last stage of exhaustion--one true pitch would
have hurled him limp from his seat--yet, with his body numb from head
to toe, he managed to keep his place by using that last and greatest
strength of feeble man--power of will. Alcatraz, coming at last to a
beaten stop, looked about him for help.

There was nothing to aid, nothing save the murmur of the wind in the
trees just before him. Suddenly his ears pricked with new hope and he
shut out the weak voice which murmured huskily: "I've got you now.
I've got you, Alcatraz. I've all by myself--no whip,--no spur--no
leather pulling--I've rode straight up and----"

Alcatraz lunged out into a rickety gallop. Only new hope sustained him
as he headed straight for the trees.

Even the dazed brain of Perris understood. With all his force he
wrenched at the bit--it was hopelessly lodged in the teeth of the
stallion--and then he groaned in despair and a moment later swayed
forward to avoid a bough brushing close overhead.

There were other branches ahead. On galloped Alcatraz, heading
cunningly beneath the boughs until he was stopped by a shock that
dropped him staggering to his knees. The pommel had struck a
branch--and Red Perris was still in place.

Once more the chestnut started, reeling heavily in his lope. This
time, to avoid the coming peril, the rider slipped far to one side and
Alcatraz veered swiftly towards a neighboring tree trunk. Too late Red
Perris saw the danger and strove to drag himself back into the saddle,
but his numbed muscles refused to act and Alcatraz felt the burden
torn from his back, felt a dangling foot tug at the left stirrup--then
he was free.

So utter was his exhaustion that in checking himself he nearly fell,
but he turned to look at the mischief he had worked.

The man lay on his back with his arms flung out cross-wise. From a
gash in his forehead the blood streamed across his face. His legs were
twisted oddly together. His eyes were closed. From head to foot the
stallion sniffed that limp body, then raised a forehoof to strike;
with one blow he could smash the face to a smear of red as he had
smashed Manuel Cordova the great day long before.

The hoof fell, was checked, and wondering at himself Alcatra