ut the halter on him.
"And," said he to Conan, "there is the halter; and if you are in any
fear for your own animals, you may go yourself and bring him away from
the field."

Conan was in a mighty rage when he heard this; and as he saw the big
horse just about to cross the fence, he snatched up the halter, and,
running forward with long strides, he threw it over the animal's head
and thought to lead him back. But in a moment the horse stood stock
still, and his body and legs became as stiff as if they were made of
wood; and though Conan pulled and tugged with might and main, he was not
able to stir him an inch from his place.

At last Fergus Finnvel, the poet, spoke to Conan and said, "I never
would have believed, Conan Mail, that you could be brought to do
horse-service for any knight or noble in the whole world; but now,
indeed, I see that you have made yourself a horse-boy to an ugly foreign
giant, so hateful-looking and low-born that not a man of the Feni would
have anything to say to him. As you have, however, to mind this old
horse in order to save your own, would it not be better for you to mount
him and revenge yourself for all the trouble he is giving you, by riding
him across the country, over the hill-tops, and down into the deep glens
and valleys, and through stones and bogs and all sorts of rough places,
till you have broken the heart in his big ugly body?"

Conan, stung by the cutting words of the poet and by the jeers of his
companions, jumped upon the horse's back, and began to beat him mightily
with his heels and with his two big heavy fists to make him go; but the
horse seemed not to take the least notice, and never stirred.

"I know the reason he does not go," said Fergus Finnvel; "he has been
accustomed to carry a horseman far heavier than you--that is to say, the
Gilla Dacker; and he will not move till he has the same weight on his
back."

At this Conan Mail called out to his companions, and asked which of them
would mount with him and help to avenge the damage done to their horses.

"I will go," said Coil Croda the Battle Victor, son of Criffan; and up
he went. But the horse never moved.

Dara Donn Mac Morna next offered to go, and mounted behind the others;
and after him Angus Mac Art Mac Morna. And the end of it was that
fourteen men of the Clann Baskin and Clann Morna got up along with
Conan; and all began to thrash the horse together with might and main.
But they were none the better fo