SON OF THE WIND
stretched tight in a quivering line, straining out the forefoot and hindfoot, kept the creature prone; but a ripple passed continuously down the back; the shoulders heaved, the muscles on the neck s:velled as the head struggled to lift itself. Carron's brows were deep in a frown. He had watched with philosophic eyes many horses flung agonizing and terrified, but this was his darling, his one of all. He hated to see that beautiful body wrestling in the dust. "Just a moment, just a moment," he muttered. consolingly between his teeth, standing over while the vaqueros tightened the knots. Esmeralda Charley, with the saddle, hesitated, half holding it back.
"What are you waiting for?" Carron asked. The half-breed lifted his shoulders with a faint, resigned shrug. He clicked his teeth hard together as he pulled the cinches around the horse's shivering middle.
"Just a minute, just a minute!" It seemed to Carron that his brain had been repeating that for ever. Always the next minute. Now, at last, before he realized it, he was in that minute—the brief, flashing space of time which he had looked forward to for so long. He was seated in saddle. The horse's four legs were under him. He could feel, between his knees, the black sides of the horse expand trembling with a great breath. The creature
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