gave Alcatraz a second problem--to fight the stallion without turning
his back on the treacherous mare.

Before he could plan his next move the black was at him again. This time
they reared together, met with a clash of teeth and rapid beat of hoofs,
and parted on equal terms. Alcatraz eyed his enemy with a fierce
respect. His head was dull and ringing with the blows; his shoulder had
been slightly cut by a glancing forehoof. Decidedly he could not meet
the brawn of this hardened old warrior on such terms. He had used up one
trick, he must find another, and still another; and when the black
rushed again, Alcatraz slipped away from the contact and raced off at
his matchless gallop. The other pursued a short distance and stopped,
sounding his defiance and his triumph. As well follow the wind as the
chestnut stranger. Besides, the blood was pouring from the gash in his
shoulder and that foreleg was growing weak; it was well that the battle
had ended at this point.

But it was not ended! Flight was not in the mind of Alcatraz as he swept
away. He ran in dodging circles about the enemy, swerving in and then
veering sharply out as the black reared to meet the expected charge.
Whatever else was accomplished, he had gained the initiative and that
plus his lightness of foot might bring matters to a decisive issue in
his favor. Twice he made his rush; twice the black turned and met him
with that shower of crushing blows with the fore hoofs. But the third
time a feint at one side and a charge at the other took the leader
unawares. Fair and true the shoulder of Alcatraz struck him on the side
and the impact flung the black heavily to the earth. The shock had
staggered even Alcatraz but he was at the other like a savage terrier.
Thrice he stamped across that struggling body until the black lay
motionless with his coat crimson from twenty slashes. Then Alcatraz drew