But when the purse is empty, it's a bit useless, it seems to
me."
"Well, then, I'll have to mortgage my future. As a matter of fact, I
suppose I could borrow what I want on my prospects."
A veritable Indian yell, instantly taken up and prolonged by a chorus of
similar shouts, cut off the last of his words. Round the corner of the
house shot a blood-bay stallion, red as the red of iron under the
blacksmith's hammer, with a long, black tail snapping and flaunting
behind him, his ears flattened, his beautiful vicious head outstretched
in an effort to tug the reins out of the hands of the rider. Failing in
that effort, he leaped into the air like a steeplechaser and pitched down
upon stiffened forelegs.
The shock rippled through the body of the rider and came to his head with
a snap that jerked his chin down against his breast. The stallion rocked
back on his hind legs, whirled, and then flung himself deliberately on
his back. A sufficiently cunning maneuver--first stunning the enemy with
a blow and then crushing him before his senses returned. But he landed on
nothing save hard gravel.
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