for him, and he turned his horse's head and plodded back towards the
ranchhouse. When he arrived, he told the first story of the wild
red-chestnut, beautiful, swift as an eagle. He talked with the hunger and
the fire which comes on the faces of those who love horses. It was not
his voice but his manner which convinced his hearers, and before he
ended every eye in the bunkhouse was lighted.

That moment was the beginning of the end for Alcatraz. From the moment
men saw him and desired him the days of his freedom were limited; but
great should be the battle before he was subdued!



CHAPTER VII

THE PROMISED LAND

There was no thought of submission in Alcatraz at this moment, though
never for an instant did he under-rate the power of man. To Alcatraz the
Mexican was the type, and Cordova had seemed to unite in himself many
powers--strength like a herd of bulls, endurance greater than the
contemptible patience of the burro, speed like the lightning which winks
in the sky one instant and shatters the cottonwood tree the next. Such
as he were men, creatures who conquer for the sake of conquest and who
torment for the love of pain. His fear equalled his hatred, and his
hatred made him shake with fever.

The horseman had vanished but it was not well to trust to mere distance.
Had he not heard, more than once, the gun speaking from the hand of
Cordova, and presently the wounded hawk fluttered out of the sky and