Diablo stood at the extreme end of his paddock, head up, eyes flashing, every nerve quivering at sound of human voices. Of late, many attempts had been made to “break him;” each resulting in fresh torment to himself, and failure to his would-be conquerors. Already he had learned to distrust humanity, and to watch against its assaults.
“Your lariat, Sutro,” whispered Steenie, eagerly. And from his capacious pocket the caballero drew a fine silken cord which he always carried, and silently gave it to her.
The Judge’s attention had been diverted, for an instant, but was recalled by a swish of flying draperies, and Beatrice’s low cry: “My—sake!”
Steenie had leaped over the fence, and was swiftly proceeding down the field, with the springing step of one who merrily goes to meet a friend.
“Merciful powers! Steen—”
But Sutro’s hand was firmly placed over Judge Courtenay’s lips. “Ten thousand pardons! Speak not—move not. Her safety and success depend on silence,” whispered the caballero, impressively.
“Her success!” Strong man though he was, Diablo’s owner turned faint, and he shut his eyes in horror at this terrible result of his own idle jesting.
CHAPTER X.
STEENIE, DIABLO, AND THE JUDGE.