"Thank you, I don't bet," answered the lad. "If I did, I couldn't bring myself to lay a wager on those two beautiful creatures that are trying to kill each other. Ah! There goes the black flat on his back!"
Before Satan could rise, the hoofs of the white one had been driven against him with unerring aim. Yet, the blow while it must have hurt, served to assist Satan to roll over. As a matter of fact he was kicked over, and thus helped to spring to his feet.
Each animal fastened his teeth in the flanks of the other at the same instant, and, when they tore themselves apart, each was limping.
On each side of the field the other members of the two bands of horses, stood stolidly observing the conflict. Neither side made an effort to participate in the battle.
Here and there a colt would break away and gambol out into the field, only to be recalled by a sharp whinny from its mother.
"It's queer they do not take a hand," marveled Tad.
"No; they never do. They look to their leader to fight their battles for them. When the battle is ended you will notice something else that will interest you."
"What?"
"You'll see when the time comes. Now watch them go at it."
And they did. It appeared as if each of the combatants was determined to put a quick end to the conflict. There was no lost time now. It was give and take. Blow after blow resounded from their hoofs. Now, one of the contestants would stagger and fall, only to be up and at his adversary, while their lithe, supple bodies flashed in the bright sunlight till the watchers' eyes were dizzy from following their rapid evolutions.