THE BATTLE OF THE STALLIONS
The trail grew hotter as they advanced.
"See, Satan's running now."
The pursuers increased their speed, although they could not hope to
travel as rapidly as the black stallion and his followers. The wild
horses' trot had by this time become leaps, as the followers could
plainly see from the trail that had been left behind. Satan and his
band were traveling in single file, their whole attention being
centered on running down the Angel.
"Do you think Satan scented the others?" asked Tad, when they struck a
level piece of ground so that they could relax their vigilance a little.
"No doubt of it at all. But he didn't know it was just then. He only
knew it was a horse. He knows now that the other bunch is ahead of
him."
"How do you know that?" queried Tad.
"By the trail," replied Stevens. "Don't you see, the Angel is going
faster. They are both on a run now."
"Then the Angel must be afraid. Is that it?"
"Not much. He wants to find a better place in which to fight. This
place is bad medicine for a horse battle. They're all heading for the
mesas, just as I thought first."
The cowboy was leaning well forward in his saddle, eyes on the trail,
instead of looking ahead. Tad, on the contrary, was straining his
eyes, hoping to catch sight of the two bands of fleeing horses; but not
a sign of them did he see. Bud was the first to inform him that they
were nearing the object of their chase.
"Satan's going slower. He is coming up with the others. Let up a
little, and don't talk in a loud tone. We don't want to disturb them
nor let either of the bands get an idea they are followed. They might
race off to some other part of the range. We want to catch them all
later, if we can."
Their ponies were slowed down to a trot, with Bud Stevens leading.
All at once he held up his hand for a halt. Tad pulled up shortly.
"What is it? Do you see them?" he whispered.
Bud shook his head.
"Not yet. We're close to them, though. Jump off and tether your nag.
We've got to go on afoot. They'll smell our ponies if we ride any
further."
Moving rapidly, the man and the boy, led their mounts in among the
trees, where they made them fast with the stake ropes. Then both
started on a jog-trot along the trail.
"How far do we have to go do you think?"
"Don't know. Hope it's not far or we're liable to miss the show."
"I can run as fast as you can if you want to go faster."
"Hark! Hear that?" exclaimed Bud.
"Yes, what was it?"
"They're lining up for the battle. That was a stallion's scream of
defiance. It is a challenge for battle. There goes the other one.
That's the Angel telling Satan to come on and fight. Now Satan's
answering him."
It was all just so much noise to Tad Butler. The meaning of the harsh
sounds conveyed nothing to him, but to Bud Stevens they were full of
meaning.
"Careful, now. We're getting near."
Both men sped along as fast as their feet would carry them, but without
making a sound that might have been heard a dozen yards away.
"Hist!" warned Bud, crouching low.
Grasping his companion by the arm, he crept to the right, finally
emerging from behind a rise of ground which had shielded their progress.
"Look there," he whispered.
Tad looked. Below him lay a broad, open mesa, its upper end within a
stone's throw of where he stood. But that was not what attracted his
attention. A band of horses of many colors and sizes stood arrayed on
each side of the little plain.
Advanced a few yards from the band on the right, was a magnificent
black stallion, pawing the earth and uttering shrill challenges. On
the other side of the field was the Angel. He was not pawing the
earth. Instead he was standing proudly, his curving neck beautifully
arched, his pink nostrils distended and held high.
"What a wonderful animal!" said Tad under his breath. "And that black!
I can understand why he is called Satan. What are they going to do?"
"Fight! Don't you understand? They're getting ready to settle their
old score, and a merry mix-up it'll be," replied the cowboy in a
whisper.
"Yes, yes," breathed Tad, scarcely able to curb his excitement.
"There they go!"
With a wild scream Satan and the Angel bounded into the center of the
field. As they neared it each swerved to his right and dashed by,
avoiding his opponent.
"Act as if they were afraid of each other," said Tad.
"They're not. They're trying each other out--sparring for an opening
as it were. You'll see in a minute."
The fighters returned to the charge. They did not flinch this time.
With a rush they came together, rearing in the air, jaws wide apart.
Their fore-feet struck out. Both stallions broke, wheeled and kicked
viciously.
Neither had landed a blow.
Next time they came at each other walking on their hind feet. They
were sparring with their fore feet like fighters in the ring, their
hoofs making such rapid thrusts that the eye could scarcely follow
them. Satan reached for the head of his antagonist with a quick sweep.
The white stallion blocked the blow cleverly.
[Illustration: They Were Sparring with Their Fore Feet like Fighters in
the Ring.]
Yet, in doing so, he had left an opening. Satan took instant advantage
of it. The black stallion's head shot forward. It reminded Tad of a
serpent striking at its victim.
"Ah! He landed!" exclaimed the cowboy.
A fleck of crimson on the creamy neck of the Angel showed where the
vicious teeth of the black stallion had reached him. Yet, no sooner
had the wound been inflicted than the Angel whirled. It was like a
flash of light.
A white hoof shot out catching the black on the side of the head,
sending him staggering to his haunches.
The white animal was upon him with a scream of triumph. Just as it
seemed that the Angel was about to run him down, the black sprang to
his feet, leaping to one side, and as the Angel passed, the hind hoofs
of Satan were driven into his side.
The Angel uttered a cry of pain; it was returned by one of triumph from
his antagonist.
"Oh, what a pity to see two such magnificent animals seeking to kill
each other! Do you think one of them will be killed, Mr. Stevens?"
"They may. You can't tell. Hope there won't be a knock-out, 'cause we
want both of those fellows and we'll get them too. I tell you, we're
in luck this trip. We'll make a haul that will be worth a few thousand
dollars, you bet. There they go again."
Changing their method of attack, the fighters began rushing, whirling,
kicking and so timing their blows that their hind feet met with a crash
that might have been heard a long distance away. The shiny coat of the
black did not show that he had been wounded, but the watchers knew he
had, for they had seen the teeth of the white animal buried in his side
at least once.
A vicious charge of Satan's, threw the Angel from his feet. He struck
the hard ground with a mighty snort, but was on his feet in an instant,
returning to the charge, mouth open, feet pawing the air.
The two men could see the eyes of the desperate antagonists fairly
blaze, while their shrill cries thrilled Tad through and through.
Never in his life had he gazed upon such a scene--two giants of the
equine world engaged in mortal combat. It was a scene calculated to
make the blood course more rapidly through the veins of the boy, who,
himself, possessed so much courage. And it did, in this case, though
as a lover of horses his heart was filled with pity for the one who was
to lose the battle. As yet there was no indication as to which this
would be. They seemed equally matched, and thus far honors had been
about even.
"Think the black can whip him?" he asked.
"Don't know, kiddie. I'll make a bet with you; take your choice."
"Thank you, I don't bet," answered the lad. "If I did, I couldn't
bring myself to lay a wager on those two beautiful creatures that are
trying to kill each other. Ah! There goes the black flat on his back!"
Before Satan could rise, the hoofs of the white one had been driven
against him with unerring aim. Yet, the blow while it must have hurt,
served to assist Satan to roll over. As a matter of fact he was kicked
over, and thus helped to spring to his feet.
Each animal fastened his teeth in the flanks of the other at the same
instant, and, when they tore themselves apart, each was limping.
On each side of the field the other members of the two bands of horses,
stood stolidly observing the conflict. Neither side made an effort to
participate in the battle.
Here and there a colt would break away and gambol out into the field,
only to be recalled by a sharp whinny from its mother.
"It's queer they do not take a hand," marveled Tad.
"No; they never do. They look to their leader to fight their battles
for them. When the battle is ended you will notice something else that
will interest you."
"What?"
"You'll see when the time comes. Now watch them go at it."
And they did. It appeared as if each of the combatants was determined
to put a quick end to the conflict. There was no lost time now. It
was give and take. Blow after blow resounded from their hoofs. Now,
one of the contestants would stagger and fall, only to be up and at his
adversary, while their lithe, supple bodies flashed in the bright
sunlight till the watchers' eyes were dizzy from following their rapid
evolutions.
"I wish the boys might see this," breathed Tad, fascinated by the sight
in spite of himself.
"So do I," grinned Bud.
"Did you ever see a battle of this kind?" asked the lad.
"Not like this. I've seen stallions fight, yes, but never such a scrap
as this. Looks as if they'd be fighting all day. But they won't."
"Why not? They seem as strong as when they began."
"They are, but they're getting careless. They're taking longer chances
every round. First thing you know, one of them will get kicked into
the middle of next week. Whoop! That was a dandy!"
The Angel had planted both hind hoofs fairly on the side of Satan's
head.
Satan had gone down. But when the white stallion made a leap, with the
intention of springing upon his prostrate victim, the black rolled to
one side, and in a twinkling had fastened his teeth upon his
adversary's leg.
Only for a brief second did he cling there, then throwing himself out
of the way sprang to his feet. The two animals met with a terrific
crash, head-on.
Biting, kicking, screaming out their wild challenges of defiance the
battle waxed hotter, faster and more furious.
The mares in the herds showed signs of uneasiness. They might have
been observed tossing their heads and shifting almost nervously on
their feet, but making no effort to move away or out into the field.
"Are the mares getting excited?" asked Tad in wonder.
"No. They see one of the stallions is going to get his knock-out in a
minute."
"Which one?"
"I don't know."
"But how can they tell that, if we are unable to see either one of them
weakening?"
"More ghost telegraphy, I guess," answered Bud, not for an instant
removing his gaze from the fascinating scene before him. He, too, was
becoming excited. He could scarcely restrain himself.
All at once, despite his caution, Bud Stevens uttered a whoop.
"The black's got him!"
"No, the Angel's got him!" shouted Tad Butler excitedly.
"No, he hasn't! It's the black, I tell you. See! There, he's kicked
the Angel halfway across the mesa."
Now it was the Angel's turn to do some kicking. He did, and with
terrific effect. Both hind hoofs were planted in the black's abdomen.
Not once, but again and again. Yet the black was not thus easily
defeated. With the sledge-hammer blows raining all over him, he
struggled to his feet, and, with a desperate lunge, fastened himself
upon the neck of his adversary.
Back and forth struggled the black and the white now, like a pair of
wrestlers.
"Now, who do you think's got him, hey?" laughed Bud. "Why, the
black'll eat his head off."
"I said Angel was going to win, and I think he is," retorted Tad. The
white with a mighty toss of his powerful neck, threw Satan off, the
fore feet of the Angel smiting and knocking Satan down.
Then followed a series of Gatling-gun-like reports as the Angel's hind
hoofs beat a tattoo on the head of his prostrate victim.
The black was conquered.
Satan had been knocked out by the Angel, in the greatest equine battle
that human eyes ever had gazed on.
"Aren't you glad I don't bet?" laughed Tad, his eyes flashing with the
excitement of it all.
"I'd been willing to lose on that fight," grunted the cowboy.
"Is he killed, do you think?" asked the lad.
"No; he's just dizzy after the wallops he got on the head. You'll see
him get up in a minute."
The Angel had backed off a few paces and there he stood, head erect,
waiting as motionless as a statue until the moment when his fallen
adversary should rise, if at all.
Slowly the black pulled himself to his feet. His head came up. He
eyed the now calm white stallion half hesitatingly.
The watchers fairly held their breath, for it was a dramatic moment.
"They're going to fight again," muttered Tad.
"He's licked! He's got enough!" exclaimed Bud.
The black turned his back upon the white stallion, and with lowered
head, dejection and humiliation apparent in every line, every movement
of his body, walked slowly back to his own band.
The Angel followed at a distance, almost to the lines of the enemy.
Then he paused, galloped back to the center of the field, and throwing
up his head uttered a long, shrill scream of triumph.
One by one the mares of Satan's band detached themselves from his
ranks, and, with their colts, trotted across the field to join the
Angel's band.