He reared, and bent and drew his bow. He crouched as a boxer spars.
Flung back on his haunches, weird he loomed—then leapt—and the dim void lightened.
Old White Wings shied and swerved aside, and fled from the splendor-shod.
Through a flashing welter of worlds we charged. I knew why my horse was frightened.
He had two faces—a dog’s and a man’s—that Babylonian god!
Also, he followed us real as fear. Ping! went an arrow past.
My broncho buck-jumped, humping high. We plunged ... I guess that’s all!
I lay on the purple canyon’s lip, when I opened my eyes at last—
Stiff and sore and my head like a drum, but I broke no bones in the fall.
So you know—and now you may string me up. Such was the way you caught me.