“So I ran ahead, jumped over a low place in the fence, and reached the bridge before the horses did. I heard them come on the other end of the bridge, and I tried to get my bristles up, but—gooft—ooft—they wouldn’t stay up. As the men came across I went to meet them, and when they came within a few steps of me, I charged at them, making as much noise as I could, crying:
“‘Gooft—ooft! Gooft!’
“It was all so sudden that the horses were terribly frightened. There were five of them. One reared and I ran under his forelegs. Another shied too far to one side, and went crashing through the railing into the creek. One of the horses kicked me, and—gooft!—that made me mad. For the first time my bristles rose. I rushed at them with open mouth. Another crashed through the railing and went over. All this time I could see the Son of Ben Ali at the heels of the horse that was carrying the Teacher and old Grizzly’s son.
“But the horse was scared nearly to death. His rider couldn’t manage him. He was wild. Before the Son of Ben Ali could cut the rope, the scared horse had whirled and rushed off the bridge, and I went after him. The Son of Ben Ali disappeared, and I went over the fence and rested in the bushes. Presently the Son of Ben Ali came creeping to where I was. He was wet with sweat and trembling all over.
“Neither the men nor the horses were hurt. Gooft! they came together and sat on their horses within a few steps of where we lay. One said it was a man seven feet high. Another said it was a wild varment as big as a lion. Still another said it was Satan. Gooft—ooft! The Teacher said it was a warning. Ooft! ‘The hand of the Lord is in it,’ he said.
“‘It will be a hard race, little Grunter—a hard race! It is three miles to the big house, and from there eight miles to Harmony. It is to be a hard race, little Grunter—a hard race. But it must be run.’ So said the Son of Ben Ali.
“‘Am I to go, Son of Ben Ali?’ I said.
“‘As far as you may and as fast as you can, little Grunter.’
“Gooft! you have never seen the Son of Ben Ali throw a stone, and you have never seen him run! We got in the big road where the ground was firm. Gooft! I began to gallop, but I heard the Son of Ben Ali right at my heels. I began to run, and—gooft—ooft!—I heard him closer at my heels. The faster I went, the faster the Son of Ben Ali went. I was a pretty swift runner and am to this day, but that night I could never get more than twenty steps away from the Son of Ben Ali. Gooft! he was running to save life, and I was running for fun. Once we passed a stray traveler—a stray negro. He called out: ‘What are you trying to do, brother? ‘Ooft!—and the Son of Ben Ali called back: ‘Trying to catch little Grunter, brother!’ Gooft—and the stranger cried: ‘I wish you mighty well, my brother!’
“Gooft—ooft! It was a warm race and a long one. We were not going as fast at the end as we were at the beginning. Ooft! but we were going. And we went till we came to the horse lot, and then I stopped. I spoke to the Son of Ben Ali and said that we were now as close to the hogpen as I hoped ever to be, and so he cried out as he ran: ‘Good night, little Grunter!’ I heard him go to the stable where the Black Stallion, the Son of Abdallah, is kept. Then I heard the door thrown open, and the Son of Abdallah came out with a scream and a snort, and that is all I know. The rest the Black Stallion can tell you.