“Ride him fairly at it,—no flinching; and d——me if I care what your father was, I'll say you're a gentleman.”
Lionel bit his lip almost through with passion; and, had the occasion permitted, the heavy stroke of his whip had fallen on a very different quarter from his horse's flank; but he never uttered a word.
“Badly done! Never punish your horse at the stride!” said the fellow, who seemed bent on provoking him.
Lionel bounded in his saddle at this taunt on his riding; but there was no time for bandying words of anger; the roar of rushing water, and the misty foam, proclaimed the torrent near.
“The best man is first over!” shouted the stranger, as he rushed at the terrific chasm. Lionel dashed forward; so close were they, they could have touched; when, with a wild cheer, the stranger gave his horse a tremendous cut, and the animal bounded from the earth like a stag, and, soaring over the mad torrent, descended lightly on the sward beyond.
Lionel had lifted his horse at the very same instant; but the treacherous bank gave way beneath the animal's forelegs: he struggled dreadfully to regain his footing, and, half rearing and half backing, tried to retire; but the effort was in vain, the slippery earth carried him with it, and down both horse and rider came into the stream.
“Keep his head to the current, and sit steady!” shouted the stranger, who now watched the struggle with breathless eagerness. “Well done! well done!—don't press him, he 'll do it himself.”
The counsel was wise, for the noble animal needed neither spur nor whip, but breasted the white torrent with vigorous effort, sometimes plunging madly above, and again sinking, all save the head, beneath the flood. At last they reached the side, and the strong beast, with one bold spring, placed his fore-legs on the high bank. This was the most dangerous moment, for, unable to follow with his hind-legs, he stood opposed to the whole force of the current, that threatened every instant to engulf him. Lionel's efforts were tremendous; he lifted, he spurred, he strained, he shouted, but all in vain: the animal, worn out by exertion, faltered, and would have fallen back, when the stranger, springing from his saddle, leaned over the bank, and, seizing Lionel by the collar, jerked him from his horse. The beast, relieved of the weight, at once rallied and bounded up the bank, where Lionel now found himself, stunned, but not senseless.
“Let them say what they like,” muttered the stranger, as he stood over him, “you 're a devilish fine young fellow! D——me if I'll ever think so much about good blood again!”
Lionel was too weak and too much exhausted to reply, and even his fingers could scarcely close upon the whip he tried to grasp; yet, for all that, the stranger's insolence sickened him to the very heart. Pride of race was the strongest feeling of his nature, and this fellow seemed determined to outrage it at every turn.