However, the Judge quickly aroused from the inaction his terror had caused, and, leaping over the paling, would have followed this childish horse “breaker,” had he been allowed. But Sutro sprang forward almost as instantly, leaned over the rails, and, with all the force of his iron muscles, clasped his long arms around the other’s shoulders.
“Caramba! I tell thee—no! Thou shalt not! Wouldst see her killed before thy very eyes?”
In a whisper, equally hoarse, the pinioned victim of the Spaniard’s embrace retorted: “No! For that reason—”
“Move not, hand nor foot! Watch. She is safe. I swear it. She has a magic. I know not—she calls it love.”
Magic! It seemed so. Half way down the field Steenie slackened her pace, began to sing softly, bits and snatches of melodies ended almost in the same breath, and to stop and pluck at the buttercup and clover blooms, here or there. She had the lariat loosely about her wrist; but she paid no attention to Diablo, who stood, like a beautiful statue, regarding the intrusion.
By slow degrees she made her way to a low-branched oak-tree standing at one side the paddock, not far from the colt’s own position, and, with the gentlest of motions, raised herself to its broad limb.
Diablo was now obliged to turn his head in order to watch her, but otherwise he did not stir; and, observing this, Judge Courtenay’s heart beat a trifle more naturally.
“Loose your arms, señor; I shall not startle her now.”
“Ah! Si? Thou beholdest then that we spoke the truth? In one half-hour my Little Un will come to thee leading the beast by the forelock. Thou wilt see.”
“Hang the beast! That she comes out alive—unhurt—is all I care!”