"This ain't a day for fighting," he repeated.
A shrill, quavering neigh, like the whinney of a galloping horse, rang from beyond the house, and Vic saw the black stallion racing up and down his corral.

Back and forth he wove, then raced straight for the bars, flashed above them, and stood free beyond, with the sunshine trembling on him.

He seemed to pause, wondering what to do with his new freedom, then he came at a loose gallop for the master.

Not Satan alone, for now Black Bart slid across the plateau like a shadow, weaving among the boulders, and came straight towards Barry.

Vic himself felt a change, a sort of uneasy happiness; he breathed it with the air.