around watching them for? One or the other of them will be killed soon,
if we don't do something."

It was but a few moments since the horses had started fighting, although
it had seemed much longer. At first the cowboys had seemed in a sort of
stupor, so suddenly had the thing happened, but at Mr. Melton's words
they sprang into activity. Some of them ran to get pitchforks, while
others secured lariats from their saddles and hurried back to the scene
of battle.

The bay horse was now getting much the worst of it, and it became evident
that if the two infuriated animals were not separated soon the later
arrival would either be killed or else so badly hurt that he would have
to be shot eventually.

Some of the cowboys rushed into the corral and with shouts and cries
endeavored to separate the combatants. The stallions took not the
slightest notice of them, however, except to lash out savagely at them
whenever they came within striking distance.

"They can't do anything that way," muttered Mr. Melton. "Here," he
exclaimed, snatching a coiled lariat from one of his men, "I'll get in
there myself and put an end to this business, or know the reason why."

Lasso in hand he rushed toward the corral, and in a few seconds was
inside. Fortunately, just as he entered the inclosure, the stallions,
exhausted with their efforts, drew apart and stood snorting and pawing
the ground. Mr. Melton realized that here was his opportunity, and
grasped it on the instant. Swinging the loop in great circles about his
head he took careful aim and let go. The rope whizzed through the air,
and the lithe coils settled about Satan's neck.

For a second the black stallion was taken by surprise. He rolled his
bloodshot eyes toward his owner, but for a brief space made no move.
Then with a loud snort of rage he rushed toward the ranchowner, his
foam-flecked jaws gnashing and the breath whistling through his red
nostrils. Mr. Melton stood quiet, but alert, every muscle tense. Then,
when the infuriated stallion was almost upon him, with an agility that
it seemed impossible one of his bulk could possess, he leaped to one
side, and started running backward.

At the same moment he threw the whirling, writhing coil of rope with such
sure aim that it settled with beautiful precision over Satan's powerful
shoulders. Before the rope could tighten, however, the black stallion had
whirled, and was again making for the ranchman.

When the horse was almost