In his mind's eye he could foresee the broncho's action.

He had escaped down the track once, and would do the same again after a few desperate bounds--nevertheless Mose dreaded the terrible concussion of those stiff-legged leapings.
Standing beside the animal's shoulder he slipped off the ropes and swung to the saddle.

The beast went off as before, with three or four terrible buck jumps, but Mose plied the quirt with wild shouting, and suddenly, abandoning his pitching, the horse set off at a tearing pace around the track.

For nearly half way he ran steadily--then began once more to hump his back and leap into the air.
"He's down!" yelled some one.
"No, he's up again--and Mose is there," said Haney.
The crowd, not to be cheated of their fun, raced across the oval where the battle was still going on.
The princess was white with anxiety and ordered her coachman to "Get there quick as God'll let ye." When she came in sight the horse was tearing at Mose's foot with his teeth.
"Time's up!" called Haney.
"Make it ten," said Mose, whose blood was hot.
The beast dropped and rolled, but arose again under the sting of the quirt and renewed his frenzied attack.

As Mose roweled him he kicked with both hind feet as if to tear the cinch from his belly.