"I can make or break you; and, by heavens! you've made your own
choice. I'll break you till you squeal,--then there will be no ten
thousand dollars. It will be get out and be-damned to you."

"Go to it," replied Phil easily, "it's your move."

Brenchfield walked to the door.

"Come out and have a look at my horse!" he shouted over his shoulder.
"She wants shoeing all round."

Phil followed to where the sleek, black animal was securely tied to
a hitching post. Phil had heard of this particular horse of
Brenchfield's. She was the fastest piece of horseflesh in the
Valley. She was a beauty, but as vicious with her teeth as she was
treacherous with her feet. She had the eye of a devil. No one had
been found who could ride her save Brenchfield and no one could
groom her but her owner. Several had tried; one had been killed
outright, one lamed permanently and others gave up before they were
compelled to.

"So this is Beelzebub?" asked Phil.

"Yes!"

"Guess you had better bring her back to-morrow when Hanson is here."

"Can't you shoe a horse?"

"Some horses!"

Brenchfield laughed sarcastically.

"Tie her up in the frame then," said Phil, "and I'll do it. Hanson
told me she always has to be shod in that way."

Brenchfield laughed again.

"A bright blacksmith you are!" he grunted.

The young smith's face flushed angrily.

"All right!" he retorted, "leave her where she is. There isn't any
horse or anything else belonging to you or connected with you,--and
including you--that I can't put shoes on."

Phil went over to look more closely at the animal, as the Mayor went
to her head and stroked her nose.

"Sure you're not scared? She's a heller!"

Phil walked round her without answering. He was at her rear, closer
than he should have been, when Brenchfield suddenly reached and
whispered a peculiar, grating, German-like, guttural sound in the
mare's ear.

Like lightning her ears went back, her eyes spurted fire, a thrill ran
through her body and her two hind feet shot into the air. Brenchfield
shouted warningly.

Phil, only half alert, sprang aside. The iron-ringed hoofs flashed
past him, one biting along his cheek and ripping it an eighth of an
inch deep. Phil staggered to the wall, as the horse continued to
plunge and rear in a paroxysm of madness. Her owner tried to pacify
her, but he made little headway with the job.

"Good Lord, man! as a man working among horses don't you know better
than to hang ar