he
fight--and he dug in his spurs with vicious might.

Back to it wildly, with fury increased, the broncho leaped responsively.

Here, there, all the field over, the demon thrashed, catapulting
incredibly. He tried new tricks, invented new volcanics of motion,
developed new whirlwinds of violence.

Once more, then, as he had on the first occasion, the beast reared up
and fell backward to the earth. Once more Van dropped away from his
bulk and caught him before he could rise. This time, however, he did
not immediately mount--and the men went running to his side.

"Fer God's sake, boy, let me kill the brute!" cried Gettysburg taking
up a club.

"I'll shoot him! I'll shoot him! I'll shoot him!" said Napoleon
wildly, but without any weapon in his hands.

Beth beheld and heard it all. She was once more standing rigidly by
her tree, unable to move or speak. She wished to run to Van as the men
had run, but not to slay the broncho--only to beg the horseman not to
mount again.

She saw him push the men away and stand like the broncho's guard. His
face was streaked with blood--his blood--jolted alike from his mouth
and nose by the shocks to which he had been subjected.

"Let the horse alone!" he commanded roughly. "Good stuff in this
broncho--somewhere. Get me a bottle of water, right away--a big
one--get it full."

His partners started at once to raise objections. The Indian stood by
stolidly looking on.

"You can't go no further. Van, you can't----" started Gettysburg.

"Sominagot! Una ma, hong oy! Una ca see fut!" said the Chinese-cook,
swearing vehemently in the language likeliest to count, and he ran at
once towards the kitchen.

Van was replacing the blindfold on the broncho's eyes. The animal was
panting, sweating, quivering in every muscle. His ears went backward
and forward rapidly. The blindfold shut out a wild, unreasoning
challenge and defiance that burned like a torch in his eyes.

Algy came running with a big bottle, filled and corked.

"Fer God's sake, leave me kill him!" Gettysburg was repeating
automatically. "Van, if you ain't got no respect fer yourself, ain't
you got none left fer us old doggone cusses?"

"Give me the bottle, Algy," Van replied. "You're the only game sport
on the ranch."

Still he did not discover Beth. His attentions were engrossed by the
horse. He was dizzy, dazed, but a dogged master still of his forces.
Up he mounted to the saddle again, the bottle