Both officers laughed derisively.

“Prince Karl of Auersperg likes bold men around him,” said the one who had dismounted, “and he would not care for a hostler who was afraid of his own horses.”

John, despite the fact that he had invited it, was stung somewhat by the taunt.

“While I said it was not my business to ride horses I didn’t say I couldn’t ride them,” he replied.

“Then up with you and prove it.”

John seized the bridle, and as the great black horse, feeling the touch of an unfamiliar hand, pulled away from him, he made one leap and was in the saddle.  He felt in an instant from the fierce quiver running through the mighty frame that he had a demon beneath him.  The Austrians, who doubtless had not expected him to accept the challenge, were alarmed and the younger, whose name John afterward learned to be Pappenheim, shouted: 

“Jump off!  He’ll kill you!”

John had no notion of leaving the saddle, either willingly or unwillingly.  He believed that after his training by the cowboys he could ride anything, and when he felt the great frame draw itself together he was ready.  He saw too that he could make capital.  He would impress these volatile Austrians and at the same time he would recommend himself as an expert horsemen to Prince Karl of Auersperg.

The black horse made a series of mighty jumps, any one of which would have sent a novice flying, but the trained rider on his back knew instinctively which way he was going to leap, and swayed easily every time.  Then panting, and mad with anger and fury, the horse rushed down the road.  John pulled hard on the bridle to keep him from stumbling.  He heard the two Austrians behind him shouting, and the one on horseback pursuing, but he did not look back.

When the horse had gone three or four hundred yards he pulled harder on the bit, and gradually turned him about in the road.  Then he raced him back up the hill, a most exhausting proceeding for any animal however strong.  Then the horse began to jump and kick again, but he could not shake off his incubus.  A side glance by John showed that young Pappenheim was standing among the trees by the roadside well out of the way and that the mounted officer had also drawn back among the trees.

He felt that now was the time for his stroke.  He knew that the horse was conquered, overcome chiefly by his own struggles, and letting him breathe a little he urged him straight forward in the road toward the castle, which was only a few hundred yards away.

As he emerged from the woods he saw that the road led through the remains of an ancient wall, and across a bridge over a moat which was partly filled up.  In the cleared space in front of the wall several soldiers were standing and near them were two hussars.  The hussars rode forward, as if they would prevent the flight of the horse, but John urged on his waning spirit and he dashed over the moat and through the wall into the inner precincts of the castle yard, where the animal stopped dead beat and covered with foam.