He leaned a little forward and with a nice movement dropped his whip on to the quarters of a red cow. On the instant the black horse answered the signal. Power gave the reins to its neck and sat back with waiting whip. Not far away O'Neill followed ready for what might come. The black horse moved to the red cow's shoulder, and steered her with a pretty cunning to the outside of the mob, nor lost place a single time, though she twisted, turned and propped with skill. It was a game of trick and shift to liven the eye of any man. She came presently to the outermost circle, bellowing with nervousness and hurry. The black horse was at her shoulder goading her farther into the open. She lost her head and trotted a few paces from the mob, and that moment turned the scales against her. As the black horse got into his stride, Power let out his whip, and O'Neill came up behind with a hurry of hoofs. They fell upon her with a scramble of blows. She bellowed, threw up her head, tried to swing back to the mob, slipped, heard the bang of whips about her ears, and took to her heels across the plain, with both men at her tail. She showed them her heels for a quarter of a mile. "She's right!" Power cried out.
The last of the cows was cut out as dusk began to settle. There remained only a few minutes to dark. "There's that bull yet," Power said. He sat on a heaving horse, and lifted his hat from his head. The men pushed a passage into the mob again. The herd was showing rather nervous, and took handling to hold together. The roan bull met their coming with a bellow and a shake of the head. But the black horse stood to his shoulder, and the journey to the outside began. All the way the bull showed little liking for the hustling, but his efforts to trick the enemy availed him nothing, and he found himself of a sudden on the outside of the mob, and a black horse urging him farther into the open. In a flash he turned very ugly. It was the turn of a hair whether he rushed or not. There was no waiting to add up chances, a wasted moment meant his loss into the mob. Power brought his whip down, and a long broad mark curled up in the smoking hair. The bull roared and dropped his head. He was coming this time with no two meanings. Power swept up the reins to pull the horse aside. Ill luck was at his back. He found himself jammed in a press of cattle. He shook his feet clear of the stirrups. He made ready with the whip again. He cut into the bull again, and he felt the horse go beneath him, and himself falling back into a huddle of bellowing beasts. With all his might he pulled the horse clear of the horns. Horse and bull and he came down in a scurry on the ground. He rolled clear of the saddle. He scrambled on to a knee. He spat the dust from his mouth. And then the mob at his back split, and O'Neill rode up in a fury, a whip waiting in his hand. The bull was on its knees, jerking to its feet. A hurry of blows fell about its face. It stumbled, slipped, and sprawled on its back. The whip stopped falling, and a man jumped from his horse to the ground. With great quickness he caught up the bull's tail, and thrust a foot into a hollow of its hip. Thus he held it on the ground without any great effort. There was shouting as the men called to each other.
"Are yer orl right?"
"Think so."
"Can you get clear?"
"Aye!"
On the words followed a scramble of hoofs and a heave as the black horse gained his haunches. Power was on his feet, and had thrown a leg across the saddle. Another scramble, another heave gave the horse its legs and Power a seat a-top of it. Power swung it to one hand with rein and spurs, and leant far from the saddle towards the horse standing by. "Let go when you can!" he cried out. "I have your horse!"
The man on the ground sprang clear of the bull. He clapped both hands on the arch of the saddle, and vaulted into the seat. Shaken, and with lost breath, the bull found its feet, but it had not thrown the sweat from its eyes before the whips fell on it with a cruel fury. Its courage was no more. It took to its heels across the plain.