An ordinary pony would have broken his leg at the
first or second of these jumps; but Rickety was untiring. He jarred to
the earth; he vaulted up again as from springs--over and over the same
thing.
It would eventually have become tiresome to watch had not both horse and
rider soon showed effects of the work. Every leap of Rickety's was
shorter. Sweat shone on his thick body. He was killing Arizona but he
was also breaking his own heart. Arizona weakened fast under that
continual battering at the base of his brain. His eyes rolled. He no
longer pretended to ride straight up, but clung to pommel and cantle. A
trickle of blood ran from his mouth. Marianne turned away only to find
that mild old Corson was crying: "Watch his head! When it begins to roll
then you know that he's stunned and the next jump or so will knock him
out of the saddle as limp as a half filled sack."
"It's too horrible!" breathed the girl. "I can't watch!"
"Why not? You liked it when a man beat a hoss. Now the tables are turned
and the hoss is beating the man. Ah, I thought so. There goes his head!
Rolls as if his neck was broken. Now! Now!"
Arizona Charley toppled loose-limbed from the saddle and lay twisted
where he fell, but it had taken the last of Rickety's power.
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