Alcatraz eyed his enemy with a fierce respect.

His head was dull and ringing with the blows; his shoulder had been slightly cut by a glancing forehoof.

Decidedly he could not meet the brawn of this hardened old warrior on such terms.

He had used up one trick, he must find another, and still another; and when the black rushed again, Alcatraz slipped away from the contact and raced off at his matchless gallop.

The other pursued a short distance and stopped, sounding his defiance and his triumph.