This done he turned with a cold
grin to Kelton, nodding his head shortly.
Kelton pulled the neckerchief from the black's eyes, let go of its
head, and scurried to the top of the corral fence. Before he could
reach it Calumet had vaulted into the saddle, and before the black
could realize what had happened, his feet were in the stirrups.
For an instant the Black stood, its legs trembling, the muscles under
its glossy coat quivering, its ears laid flat, its nostrils distended,
its mouth open, its eyes wild and bloodshot. Then, tensed for
movement, but uncertain, waiting a brief instant before yielding to the
thousand impulses that flashed over him, he felt the rowels of
Calumet's spurs as they were driven viciously into his sides.
He sprang wildly upward, screaming with the sudden pain, and came down,
his legs asprawl, surprised, enraged, outraged. Alighting, he
instantly lunged--forward, sideways, with an eccentric movement which
he felt must dislodge the tormentor on his back. It was futile,
attended with punishment, for again the sharp spurs sank in, were
jammed into his sides, held there--rolling, biting points of steel that
hurt him terribly.
He halted for a moment, to gather his wits and his strength, for his
former experiences with this strange type of creature who clung so
tenaciously to his back had taught him that he must use all his craft,
all his strength, to dislodge him.
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