beast fighting and squealing as
though possessed of a thousand devils. A dozen times, as the head bent
farther and farther toward him, the boy loosed his hold upon the mane
and reached quickly down to grasp the near fore pastern. A dozen times
the horse shook off the new hold, but at length the boy was successful,
and the knee was bent and the hoof drawn up to the elbow.

Now the black fought at a disadvantage, for he was on but three feet
and his neck was drawn about in an awkward and unnatural position. His
efforts became weaker and weaker. The boy talked incessantly to him in
a quiet voice, and there was a shadow of a smile upon his lips. Now
he bore heavily upon the black withers, pulling the horse toward him.
Slowly the beast sank upon his bent knee--pulling backward until his off
fore leg was stretched straight before him. Then, with a final surge,
the youth pulled him over upon his side, and, as he fell, slipped prone
beside him. One sinewy hand shot to the rope just beneath the black
chin--the other grasped a slim, pointed ear.

For a few minutes the horse fought and kicked to gain his liberty, but
with his head held to the earth, he was as powerless in the hands of the
boy as a baby would have been. Then he sank panting and exhausted into
mute surrender.

"Well done!" cried one of the knights. "Simon de Montfort himself never
mastered a horse in better order, my boy. Who be thou?"

In an instant, the lad was upon his feet his eyes searching for the
speaker. The horse, released, sprang up also, and the two stood--the
handsome boy and the beautiful black--gazing with startled eyes, like
two wild things, at the strange intruder who confronted them.

"Come, Sir Mortimer!" cried the boy, and turning he led the prancing but
subdued animal toward the castle and through the ruined barbican into
the court beyond.

"What ho, there, lad!" shouted Paul of Merely. "We wouldst not harm
thee--come, we but ask the way to the castle of De Stutevill."

The three knights listened but there was no answer.

"Come, Sir Knights," spoke Paul of Merely, "we will ride within and
learn what manner of churls inhabit this ancient rookery."

As they entered the great courtyard, magnificent even in its ruined
grandeur, they were met by a little, grim old man who asked them in no
gentle tones what they would of them there.

"We have lost our way in these devilish Derby hills of thine, old man,"
replied Paul of Merely. "We seek the