“Now, by God!” said Strann in a ringing voice, and struck a heavy hand upon the top of the table.  He regained his control, however, instantly.  “Now about that price!”

“I don’t know what horses are worth,” replied Barry.

“To start, then—­five hundred bucks in cold cash—­gold!—­for your—­what’s his name?”

“Satan.”

“Eh?”

“Satan.”

“H-m-m!” murmured Strann again.  “Five hundred for Satan, then.  How about it?”

“If you can ride him,” began the stranger.

“Oh, hell,” smiled Strann with a large and careless gesture, “I’ll ride him, all right.”

“Then I would let you take him for nothing,” concluded Barry.

“You’d—­what?” said Strann.  Then he rose slowly from his chair and shouted; instantly the swinging doors broke open and a throng of faces appeared at the gap.  “Boys, this gent here is going to give me the black—­ha, ha, ha!—­if I can ride him!” He turned back on Barry.  “They’ve heard it,” he concluded, “and this bargain is going to stick just this way.  If your hoss can throw me the deal’s off.  Eh?”

“Oh, yes,” nodded the brown-eyed man.

“What’s the idea?” asked one of Jerry’s followers as the latter stepped through the doors of the saloon onto the street.

“I dunno,” said Jerry.  “That gent looks kind of simple; but it ain’t my fault if he made a rotten bargain.  Here, you!”

And he seized the bridle-reins of the black stallion.  Speed, lightning speed, was what saved him, for the instant his fingers touched the leather Satan twisted his head and snapped like an angry dog.  The teeth clicked beside Strann’s shoulder as he leaped back.  He laughed savagely.

“That’ll be took out of him,” he announced, “and damned quick!”

Here the voice of Barry was heard, saying:  “I’ll help you mount, Mr. Strann.”  And he edged his way through the little crowd until he stood at the head of the stallion.

“Look out!” warned Strann in real alarm, “or he’ll take your head off!”

But Barry was already beside his horse, and, with his back towards those vicious teeth, he drew the reins over its head.  As for the stallion, it pricked one ear forward and then the other, and muzzled the man’s shoulder confidingly.  There was a liberal chorus of astonished oaths from the gathering.

“I’ll hold his head while you get on,” suggested Barry, turning his mild eyes upon Strann again.

“Well,” muttered the big man, “may I be eternally damned!” He added:  “All right.  Hold his head, and I’ll ride him without pulling leather.  Is that square?”

Barry nodded absently.  His slender fingers were patting the velvet nose of the stallion and he was talking to it in an affectionate undertone—­meaningless words, perhaps, such as a mother uses to soothe a child.  When Strann set his foot in the stirrup and gathered up the reins the black horse cringed and shuddered; it was not a pleasant thing to see; it was like a dog crouching under the suspended whip.  It was worse than that; it was almost the horror of a man who shivers at the touch of an unclean animal.  There was not a sound from the crowd; and every grin was wiped out.  Jerry Strann swung into the saddle lightly.