But the Mexican was waiting too, and the trigueño was completely past Crawford, with Crawford still holding his rope and twisting around so he could watch Quartel, when the man made his throw. The Mexican passed the rope over his shoulder, without looking at Crawford. In that position, the movement of Quartel's arms was blocked off by his body, and Crawford did not know the Mexican had made his toss till he saw the small, tight loop spinning directly over his head. The throw was calculated to compensate for Crawford's forward speed. All he could do to escape it was rein to one side or the other. He bent forward so far on Africano his chest struck the saddle horn, putting the reins against the black neck hard.
The violence of the quarter turn almost snapped Crawford from the saddle. He shouted with the pain stabbing through his middle. He heard the faint sound of the rope striking Africano's rump. Then he was tearing into a mogote of mesquite.
Instead of going on through, he wheeled Africano within the thicket. The horse reared up, screaming with the pain of turning in that cruel brush, and Crawford was charging out the way he had come.
Evidently expecting Crawford to go on through the mesquite, Quartel was racing around the fringe to intercept him on the other side. This caused the Mexican to be at Crawford's rear as he burst out the same spot he had gone in. Crawford put his reins against Africano's neck, and again the horse responded with that incredible turn, and Crawford found himself directly behind the churning brown rump of the trigueño. The Mexican was already in the act of wheeling his horse around to meet Crawford. Then he must have seen how Crawford had turned after him, and realized how his own maneuver would place him, for he tried to turn back. It was too late.
Quartel's first turn had placed him broadside to Crawford's oncoming black. Crawford had that one free pass at Quartel's flank, with the Mexican in no position to defend himself by a throw of his own. Crawford saw his loop settle over the man's head.
"All right," he shouted, and dallied his end of the rope around the saddle horn, wheeling Africano away to pull Quartel off.
But there was no weight on the rope. It fell slackly from the horn, and Crawford twisted back to see what had happened.
He had seen Indians do it. One instant Quartel had been sitting the horse, the next he wasn't. The loop fell across the back of the riderless trigueño, caught on the cantle, slipped off. Then the Mexican appeared in the saddle again. He had jumped completely off, hanging onto the horn with but one hand, to strike the ground and bounce back up, the rope hitting while he was off on the far side that way.
The first wild action had left no time for much thought, but now, as he recovered his rope and maneuvered to meet Quartel's next move, the sheer deadliness of this struck Crawford fully. Like trying to figure out three or four plays ahead in a poker game, with your life in the pot instead of a few dollars. Well, he had been figuring one play ahead, ever since he had seen the cards Quartel put down back there at the bull-tailing. It was the trick Quartel had used on Indita. Crawford had spotted the weakness of it, even then. A man could take advantage of that, if he had a horse which could turn quick enough.
Crawford remembered Quartel and Indita had been racing head-on at each other, and he placed himself in the position to meet Quartel that way as the Mexican trotted toward him from across the clearing now. The trigueño was picking up its feet in a high, excited action, lather marbling its snout and chest.