He had forced his way into the very center of the bunch of wild horses,
wheeling and doubling and riding like a circus performer, to avoid the
batteries of flying heels, until he was close to the wicked black
stallion, which was all that held the bunch together and prevented it
from being broken up and driven to the upper end of the ranch, where it
belonged.

There was not a moment when he was not in danger. A chance kick might
break his leg, or bring down his horse, in which event he must be kicked
to death or badly hurt by being trampled on.

But so far they had not been able to reach him.

"Be careful, Ted," cried Stella.

He waved his hand at her with a smile, and she hurried Lilian beyond the
reach of danger.

Ted wheeled his horse to face the black brute, which stood looking at
him with wicked eyes, its ears flattened like those of a panther. In
spite of its evil temper Ted admired it for its lithe beauty. It was as
clean of limb as a thoroughbred, and its black skin shone like polished
ebony. While he was looking at it thus it suddenly sprang at him, reared
on its hind legs, striking at him like a boxer. Had he not wheeled on
the instant it would have killed him. Ted was thoroughly angry, and went
to the attack himself, beating the horse about the head with his quirt.
When the horse rushed at him through a rain of blows across its nose Ted
retreated beyond reach of its hoofs, then attacked it again.