But taking the matter into his own hands Woodbury snatched the coat from the head of the stallion, which snorted and reared up, mouth agape ears flattened back.  There was a shout from the man, not a cry of dismay, but a ringing battle yell like some ancient berserker seeing the first flash of swords in the melee.  He leaped forward, jerking down on the bridle reins with all the force of his weight and his spring.  The horse, caught in mid-air, as it were, came floundering down on all fours again.  Before he could make another move, Woodbury caught the high horn of the saddle and vaulted up to his seat.  It was gallantly done and in response came a great rustling from the multitude; there was not a spoken word, but every man was on his feet.

Perhaps what followed took their breaths and kept them speechless.  The first touch of his rider’s weight sent the stallion mad, not blind with fear as most horses go, but raging with a devilish cunning like that of an insane man, a thing that made the blood run cold to watch.  He stood a moment shuddering, as if the strange truth were slowly dawning on his brute mind; then he bolted straight for the barriers.  Woodbury braced himself and lunged back on the reins, but he might as well have tugged at the mooring cable of a great ship; the bit was in the monster’s teeth.

Then a whisper reached the rider, a universal hushing of drawn breath, for the thousands were tasting the first thrill and terror of the combat.  They saw a picture of horse and man crushed against the barrier.  But there was no such stupid rage in the mind of the stallion.

At the last moment he swerved and raced close beside the fence; some projecting edge caught the trousers of Woodbury and ripped away the stout cloth from hip to heel.  He swung far to the other side and wrenched back the reins.  With stiff-braced legs the stallion slid to a halt that flung his unbalanced rider forward along his neck.  Before he could straighten himself in the saddle, the horse roared and came down on rigid forelegs, yet by a miracle Woodbury clung, sprawled down the side of the monster, to be sure, but was not quite dismounted.

Another pitch of the same nature would have freed the stallion from his rider beyond doubt, but he elected to gallop full speed ahead the length of the arena, and during that time, Woodbury, stunned though he was, managed to drag himself back into the saddle.  The end of the race was a leap into the air that would have cleared a five-bar fence, and down pitched the fighting horse on braced legs again.  Woodbury’s chin snapped down against his breast as though he had been struck behind the head with a heavy bar, but though his brain was stunned, the fighting instinct remained strong in him and when the stallion reared and toppled back the rider slipped from the saddle in the nick of time.

Fourteen hundred pounds of raging horseflesh crashed into the sawdust; he rolled like a cat to his feet, but at the same instant a flying weight leaped through the air and landed in the saddle.  The audience awoke to sound—­to a dull roar of noise; a thin trickle of blood ran from Woodbury’s mouth and it seemed that the mob knew it and was yelling for a death.