“Yes, over there’s the San Luis,” muttered Haig. “But it’s a long way, and you’re not going.”
Farrish grinned. But Pete stood like a wooden Indian, so still and intent was he, with his black eyes fixed on the outlaw. Curly loosened the coils of the lariat in his hands. In a corner of the corral Bill, mounted and watchful, held his rope ready for a throw.
Still Sunnysides did not move. But his tail swished with the slow and menacing movement of a tiger’s, and there was just a quiver of muscles under his golden hide.
“Watch out!” called Pete.
And then it came. The horse bounded into the air, and came down stiff-legged, with a jolt that Haig felt in every bone. Then he leaped sideways half a dozen feet, and Haig was flung far over, hanging perilously in the saddle. With almost one motion the horse was in 196 the air again, to come down with the same frightful, jarring shock. Instantly thereupon he lunged forward, stopped short, ducked his head, and narrowly missed hurling Haig like a stone from a catapult.
All these tactics were repeated with variations; and then, of a sudden, as if he thought Haig had forgotten his experience by this time, he reared, and with the same lightning swiftness as before, went over backward on the ground. But Haig was too quick for him. He swung himself to one side, released his right foot from the stirrup, and rolled away from beneath the horse as they came down with a crash. At the same instant Pete and Curly rushed in, and the horse leaped to his feet only to be brought down again with two ropes on his legs.
Haig, dusty but uninjured, was on his feet in a jiffy, and leaning over the thwarted outlaw.
“You didn’t really think you could do it again, did you?” he said.
“But he’s a hellyun, though, ain’t he!” ejaculated Curly, bracing himself on his rope.
The horse was allowed to rise; Haig climbed cautiously into the saddle once more; and the same tense silence as the first ensued, while Sunnysides waited, as if for inspiration.