"Santiago! I'll kill the brute!"

He was not satisfied with words, but instantly rushed upon the stallion;
the latter avoiding him, bounded now backward, now sideways, at every
fresh leap throwing sand upon the dais.

Ulrich could remain on the ladder no longer.

Fully aware of his power over refractory horses, he boldly entered the
ring and walked quietly towards the snorting, foaming steed. Driving the
animal back, and following him, he watched his opportunity, and as Satan
turned, reached his side and boldly seized his nostrils firmly with his
hand.

Satan plunged more and more furiously, but the smith's son held him as
firmly as if in a vise, breathed into his nostrils, and stroked his head
and muzzle, whispering soothing words.

The animal gradually became quieter, tried once more to release himself
from his tamer's iron hand, and when he again failed, began to tremble
and meekly stood still with his fore legs stretched far apart.

"Bravo! Bravamente!" cried the duchess, and praise from such lips
intoxicated Ulrich. The impulse to make a display, inherited from his
mother, urged him to take still greater risks. Carefully winding his
left hand in the stallion's mane, he released his nostrils and swung
himself on his back. Taken by surprise Satan tried to rid himself of his
burden, but the rider sat firm, leaned far over the steed's neck,
stroked--his head again, pressed his flanks and, after the lapse of a few