A tight band closed round her breast as she saw the giant sorrel flit in reddish-brown flashes across the openings in the green.

Then he was pounding down the lane--thundering into the court--crashing his great iron-shod hoofs on the stone flags.

Wrangle it was surely, but shaggy and wild-eyed, and sage-streaked, with dust-caked lather staining his flanks.

He reared and crashed down and plunged.

The rider leaped off, threw the bridle, and held hard on a lasso looped round Wrangle's head and neck.