To his relief, the spurs ceased to
bite. But he was not misled. There was that moment near the corral
fence when he had not moved, but still the spurs had sunk in anyway.
He would make certain this time that the creature with the spurs would
not have another opportunity to use them. And, gathering himself for a
supreme effort, he lunged again, shunting himself off toward a stretch
of plain back of the ranchhouse, bounding like a ball, his back arched,
his head between his forelegs, coming down from each rise with his
hoofs bunched so that they might have all landed in a dinner plate.
It was fruitless. Calumet remained unshaken, tenacious as ever. The
black caught his breath again, and for the next five minutes practiced
his whole category of tricks, and in addition some that he invented in
the stress of the time.
To Betty, watching from her distance, it seemed that he must certainly
unseat Calumet. She had watched bucking horses before, but never had
her interest in the antics of one been so intense; never had she been
so desperately eager for a rider's victory; never had she felt so
breathlessly fearful of one's defeat. For, glancing from the corners
of her eyes at Kelton, she saw a scornful, mocking smile on his face.
He was wishing, hoping, that the black would throw Calumet.
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