The reports had frightened the horses in the corral; and the vicious
black, crowding the rickety bars, broke them down. He came plunging
out. Two of the Mexicans ran for him, catching him by nose and
mane, and the third ran to block the gateway.
Then, with a splendid vaulting mount, the Mexican with the gun
leaped to the back of the horse. He yelled and waved his gun, and
urged the black forward. The manner of all three was savagely
jocose. They were having sport. The two on the ground began to
dance and jabber. The mounted leader shot again, and then stuck
like a leech upon the bare back of the rearing black. It was a vain
show of horsemanship. Then this Mexican, by some strange grip,
brought the horse down, plunging almost upon the body of the
Indian that had fallen last.
Gale stood aghast with his rifle clutched tight. He could not
divine the intention of the raider, but suspected something brutal.
The horse answered to that cruel, guiding hand, yet he swerved and bucked.
He reared aloft, pawing the air, wildly snorting, then he plunged down upon
the prostrate Indian. Even in the act the intelligent animal tried to
keep from striking the body with his hoofs. But that was not possible.
A yell, hideous in its passion, signaled this feat of horsemanship.
The Mexican made no move to trample the body of the Papago.
He turned the black to ride again over the other Indian. That
brought into Gale's mind what he had heard of a Mexican's hate
for a Yaqui.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150