Dunbar urged the stallion on with a yell;
and swinging the quirt over his head, he brought it down with a
stinging cut on the silky flanks of the great horse. Bull Hunter
crouched as though the lash had cut into his own flesh. He became
savage for the moment. He wanted to have his hands on that rider!
But the cut of the quirt transformed Diablo. If he had fought hard
before, he now fell into a truly demoniacal frenzy. The long flashing
legs were springs indeed, and the moment his hoofs struck the earth he
was flung up again to a greater height. He was sunfishing now in that
most deadly manner when the horse lands on one forehoof, the rider
receiving a double jar from the down-shock and then the whiplash snap
to the side. Hal Dunbar was no longer using his quirt. It dangled idly
at his side. The joy had gone from his face. In its place, as shock
after shock benumbed his brain, there was an expression of fierce
despair. Neither was he riding straight up, but he was pulling
leather.
Pages:
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241