Finding this process of no avail, and that Mat did not feel to him like coming off just yet, the beast next tried to bite his legs, gnashing his teeth in his furious but futile efforts, as Mat cast each threatened limb backwards, and thus baulked him. Then he struck at his legs with his hind feet; but here again no result. The man’s leg seemed simply to alight on the horse’s neck at each threatened stroke. The next “round” was of a very different nature. Satan threw himself down, and rolled with his rider.
To those who were witnessing this mighty struggle of man versus brute, it appeared as if this last act was a decisive one, and as if Mat had “gone down,” never to come up again. Both had disappeared amidst a mountain of dust; but a lusty cheer rang out as the rider again showed himself, and still sitting in his saddle, when the horse rose, though so covered was his face and beard with blood and black dust, that his features were barely recognizable.
The spectators could now no longer control themselves, but crowded into that portion of the yard farthest from the contest. The horse took no notice of them whatever, finding he had that on his back the like of which he had never had before.
And now, not giving his rider time even to grasp a wet towel which was thrown to him, “Satan” tried his last and hitherto never-failing trick.
Gathering himself together with a snort of triumph, he made a wild and terrific sidelong plunge against the massive timbers of the stockyard fence.
The sensation of “bucking,” as this horse had bucked, had been new to Mat; he had never been rolled with before, in the peculiar manner with which this horse had tried to crush him; but of the last “round” he had had many former experiences in his old forest days; whilst riding young colts in the beech-woods, and as he afterwards remarked to Tim,—
“It seemed quite ‘homely.’”
So when the horse made his plunge on the off side, our forester slung his right leg behind him, and “Satan” came with his ribs crashing against the heavy fencing, with a shock that knocked the remaining wind out of him, and which at the same time nearly dismounted his rider.
One of the old stockmen in the yard now begged Mat to get off during this lull; but before he could answer, a black form rushed through the throng, and with spear poised in the air, screamed in Waigonda,—
“Look out! whilst I spear the man-eater through the throat.”