“They can’t do anything that way,” muttered Mr. Melton.  “Here,” he exclaimed, snatching a coiled lariat from one of his men, “I’ll get in there myself and put an end to this business, or know the reason why.”

Lasso in hand he rushed toward the corral, and in a few seconds was inside.  Fortunately, just as he entered the inclosure, the stallions, exhausted with their efforts, drew apart and stood snorting and pawing the ground.  Mr. Melton realized that here was his opportunity, and grasped it on the instant.  Swinging the loop in great circles about his head he took careful aim and let go.  The rope whizzed through the air, and the lithe coils settled about Satan’s neck.

For a second the black stallion was taken by surprise.  He rolled his bloodshot eyes toward his owner, but for a brief space made no move.  Then with a loud snort of rage he rushed toward the ranchowner, his foam-flecked jaws gnashing and the breath whistling through his red nostrils.  Mr. Melton stood quiet, but alert, every muscle tense.  Then, when the infuriated stallion was almost upon him, with an agility that it seemed impossible one of his bulk could possess, he leaped to one side, and started running backward.

At the same moment he threw the whirling, writhing coil of rope with such sure aim that it settled with beautiful precision over Satan’s powerful shoulders.  Before the rope could tighten, however, the black stallion had whirled, and was again making for the ranchman.

When the horse was almost upon him Mr. Melton once more leaped aside, and with a dexterous flick on the rope pulled the loop down over Satan’s back.  Before the horse could check his headlong speed Mr. Melton had worked the loop down about his legs.  With a quick jerk he pulled it taut, and Satan, suddenly hobbled, fell to the earth with a crash.

Several of the cowboys ran up, and in a few seconds the stallion was securely trussed up.  The bay stallion in the meantime had retreated to the farthest corner of the corral, and was standing there dejectedly, all the fight gone out of him.  He was quickly secured and led back into his own inclosure.  Very carefully Satan was then loosed a trifle, and allowed to struggle to his feet.  He was still “hunting trouble,” as one of the men expressed it, but with the confining ropes about his fetlocks was powerless.  He was left hobbled, and the gate to his corral was fastened securely this time.

“That was sure a great ropin’ stunt you pulled off, boss,” said “Curley” to Mr. Melton.  “I never seen the trick done neater, nohow.”

“It was great!” Bert exclaimed.  “I didn’t know you were such an expert roper, Mr. Melton.”

“It wasn’t so bad for an old fellow,” admitted his host with a smile; “it took some pretty quick sidestepping to get out of Satan’s way, I’ll admit.  But when I was twenty years younger I used to rope cattle for a living, and narrow escapes were part of the business.”