red the other barebacked steeds
to be led away.

Don Juan and Alexander Farnese stood still; but the former drew his
sword, exclaiming, vehemently:

"Santiago! I'll kill the brute!"

He was not satisfied with words, but instantly rushed upon the stallion;
the latter avoiding him, bounded now backward, now sideways, at every
fresh leap throwing sand upon the dais.

Ulrich could remain on the ladder no longer.

Fully aware of his power over refractory horses, he boldly entered the
ring and walked quietly towards the snorting, foaming steed. Driving the
animal back, and following him, he watched his opportunity, and as Satan
turned, reached his side and boldly seized his nostrils firmly with his
hand.

Satan plunged more and more furiously, but the smith's son held him as
firmly as if in a vise, breathed into his nostrils, and stroked his head
and muzzle, whispering soothing words.

The animal gradually became quieter, tried once more to release himself
from his tamer's iron hand, and when he again failed, began to tremble
and meekly stood still with his fore legs stretched far apart.

"Bravo! Bravamente!" cried the duchess, and praise from such lips
intoxicated Ulrich. The impulse to make a display, inherited from his
mother, urged him to take still greater risks. Carefully winding his
left hand in the stallion's mane, he released his nostrils and swung
himself on his back. Taken by surprise Satan tried to rid himself of
his burden, but the rider sat firm, leaned far over the steed's neck,
stroked--his head again, pressed his flanks and, after the lapse of a
few minutes, guided him merely by the pressure of his thighs first at
a walk, then at a trot over the track. At last springing off, he patted
Satan, who pranced peacefully beside him, and led him by the bridle to
Don Juan.

The latter measured the tall, brave fellow with a hasty glance, and
turning, half to him, half to Alexander Farnese, said:

"An enviable trick, and admirable performance, by my love!"

Then he approached the stallion, stroked and patted his shining neck,
and continued:

"I thank you, young man. You have saved my best horse. But for you I
should have stabbed him. You are an artist?"

"At your service, Your Highness."

"Your art is beautiful, and you alone know how it suits you. But much
honor, perhaps also wealth and fame, can be gained among my troopers.
Will you enlist?"

"No, Your Highness," replied Ulrich, with a low bow. "If