When he
attempted the next leap his front legs crumbled beneath him. At the
very feet of Red Perris he plunged into the sand.
Once more he whirled to regain his lost footing, but as he turned on
his back the rope twisted and whispered above him; the off hind leg
was noosed, and then the near one--Alcatraz lay on his side straining
and snorting but utterly helpless.
Of a sudden he ceased all struggle. About neck and all four hoofs was
the burning grip of the rope, so bitterly familiar, and man had once
again enslaved him. Alcatraz relaxed. Presently there would come a
swift volley of curses, then the whir and cut of the whip--no, for a
great occasion such as this the man would choose a large and durable
club and beat him across the ribs. Why not? Even as he had served
Cordova this man of the flaming hair would now serve him. He was very
like Cordova in one thing. He did not hurry, but first picked up his
revolver and replaced it in its holster, having blown the sand from
the mechanism as well as he could. Then he put on his fallen hat and
stood back with his hands dropped on his hips and eyed the captive.
For the first time he spoke, and Alcatraz shuddered at the sound of a
voice well-nigh as smooth as that of Cordova, with the same well-known
ring of fierce exultation.
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