After this failure the wolf-dog seemed to desire no further active part in the struggle, but took up a position to one side, and there, with lolling tongue and red-stained eyes, watched the battle continue.  The stallion, to be sure, kept up the conflict with a whole-hearted energy.  Never had Buck Daniels in a long and varied career seen such wild pitching.  The black leaped here and there, doubling about with the sinuous speed of a snake, springing high in the air one instant, and landing the next on stiff legs; dropping to the ground the next second, and rolling to crush the rider; up again like a leaf jerked up by a gale of wind, and so the fierce struggle continued, with the wild rider slapping the neck of the horse as if he would encourage it to more terrible efforts, and drumming its round barrel with vindictive heels.  His hair blew black; his face flushed; and in his eyes there was the joy of the sailor, long land-bound, who climbs at last the tallest mast and feels it pitch beneath him and catches the sharp tang of the travelled wind.

The struggle ceased as if in obedience to an inaudible command.  From the full frenzy of motion horse and man were suddenly moveless.  Then Dan slipped from his seat and stood before his mount.  At once the ears of the stallion, which had been flat back, pricked sharply forward; the eyes of the animal grew luminous and soft as the eyes of a woman, and he dropped the black velvet of his muzzle beneath the master’s chin.  As for Dan Barry, he rewarded this outburst of affection with no touch of his hand; but his lips moved, and he seemed to be whispering a secret to his horse.  The wolf in the meantime had viewed this scene with growing unrest, and now it trotted up and placed itself at the side of the man.  Receiving no attention in this position, it caught the arm of the man between its great fangs and drew his hands down.  The stallion, angered by this interruption, raised a delicate forefoot to strike, and was received with a terrific snarl—­the first sound of the entire scene.

“Bart,” said the man, and his voice was not raised or harsh, but came as softly as running water, “if you ain’t going to be a gentleman, I got to teach you manners.  Get up on Satan’s back and lie down till I tell you to get off.”

The wolf received this command with a snarl even more blood-curdling than before, but he obeyed, slinking sidewise a reluctant pace or two, and then springing to the back of the stallion with a single bound.  There he crouched, still snarling softly until his master raised a significant forefinger.  At that he lowered his head and maintained a fiercely observant silence.

“Dan!” called Buck Daniels.

The other whirled.

“Speakin’ of pets,” observed Buck Daniels, “I heard tell once about a gent that had a tame lion.  Which you got the outbeatingest pair I ever see, Dan.  Gentle, ain’t they, like a stampede of cows!”

But Barry left this remark unanswered.  He ran to the tall fence, placed his hand on the top rail, and vaulted lightly over it.  Then he clasped the hand of the larger man, and his face lighted.