Crack came the lash and caught the stallion on his flank. He jumped as though he had been shot, and stood still quivering. Crack came the whip again, and the other combatant galloped round the yard.
The strange horse stood looking at him with a fiery light in his eyes. He evidently did not understand this unceremonious treatment, and resented the lash of the whip.
'You try it on. Just you try it on. You'll savage me, will you? My boy, you don't know Jim Dennis.'
Jim stood bareheaded, with the rain pouring down upon him, and he revelled in the glorious shower bath. He had on a rough shirt, such as stockmen wear, a dullish red, it having seen some service, and his breeches fitted neatly into his riding boots. He was rather particular about such things for a bushman, and he may be called such without it being a misnomer.
The horse eyed Jim, and Jim kept his eyes steadily fixed on the horse.
There was a moment or two of uncertainty, and then, before the animal had time to plunge forward towards him, Jim Dennis whirled his whip round, and the lash came down on the horse's neck and curled.
With a jerk Jim had it freed again, and then the horse rushed at him.
He sprang on one side and escaped the furious attack. Quick as lightning, before the animal could turn, he had brought the lash down again on his back, and this time the horse did not turn, but galloped to the far side of the yard.
But the struggle was not ended.
The stranger again made an attack on the horse nearest him, and there was a general uproar and stamping of hoofs amongst the mob.