Suddenly the horse dropped and rolled, hoping to catch his rider unawares.

Dan escaped by stepping to the ground, but he was white, and the blood was oozing slowly from his nose.

As the brute arose, Dan was in the saddle.

With two or three tremendous bounds, the horse flung himself into the air like a high-vaulting acrobat, landing so near the fence that Dan, swerving far to the left, was unseated, and sprawled low in the dust while the squealing broncho went down the track bucking and lashing out with undiminished vigor.
Dan staggered to his feet, stunned and bleeding.

He swore most terrible oaths that he would ride that wall-eyed brute if it took a year.
"You've had your turn.