And the form of Red Perris was knocked forward on the back of
Alcatraz!
Some place in his body one of those bullets had struck. They saw him
slide far to one side. They saw, while they shouted in triumph, that
Alcatraz instinctively shortened his pace to keep his slipping burden
from falling.
"He's done!" yelled Hervey, and shoving his rifle back in its holster,
he spurred again in the pursuit.
But Red Perris was not done. Scrambling with his legs, tugging with
his arms, he drew himself into position and straightway collapsed
along the back of Alcatraz with both hands interwoven in the mane of
the horse.
And the stallion endured it! A shout of amazement burst from the
foreman and his men. Alcatraz had tossed up his head, sent a ringing
neigh of defiance floating behind him, and then struck again into his
matchless, smooth flowing gallop!
Perhaps it was not so astonishing, after all, as some men could have
testified who have seen horses that are devils under spur and saddle
become lambs when the steel and the leather they have learned to dread
are cast away.
But all Alcatraz could understand, as his mind grasped vaguely towards
the meaning of the strange affair, was that the strong, agile power on
his back had been suddenly destroyed.
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