"Slack away!" he called to the ropers. The horse, nearly dead for lack of breath, drew a deep sigh.
Haney called out: "Stand clear, everybody, clear the road!"
And casting one rope to the ground, Dan swung into the saddle.
For just an instant the horse crouched low and waited—then shot into the air with a tigerish bound and fell stiff-legged. Again and again he flung his head down, humped his back, and sprang into the air grunting and squealing with rage and fear. Dan sat him, but the punishment made him swear. Suddenly the horse dropped and rolled, hoping to catch his rider unawares. Dan escaped by stepping to the ground, but he was white, and the blood was oozing slowly from his nose. As the brute arose, Dan was in the saddle. With two or three tremendous bounds, the horse flung himself into the air like a high-vaulting acrobat, landing so near the fence that Dan, swerving far to the left, was unseated, and sprawled low in the dust while the squealing broncho went down the track bucking and lashing out with undiminished vigor.
Dan staggered to his feet, stunned and bleeding. He swore most terrible oaths that he would ride that wall-eyed brute if it took a year.
"You've had your turn. It was a fair fight," called Kelly.
"Who's the next ambitious man?" shouted Haney.
"I don't want no truck with that," said the cowboys among themselves.
"Not in a place like this," said Jimmy. "A feller's liable to get mashed agin a fence."
Mose stood with hands gripping a post, his eyes thoughtful. Suddenly he threw off his coat.