[Illustration: "He's a newspaper man and makes his living by telling
lies."--ACT II.]

Warburton knew that the animal could not make the barb-wire fence
again, so he waltzed him along till he found a break in the wire.
Over this Pirate bounded, snorting. But he had met a master. Whether
he reared or plunged, waltzed or ran, he could not make those
ruthless knees relent in their pressure. He began to understand what
all beasts understand, sooner or later--the inevitable mastery of
man. There was blood in his nostrils. A hand touched his neck
caressingly. He shook his head; he refused to conciliate. A voice,
kindly but rather breathless, addressed him. Again Pirate shook his
head; but he did not run, he cantered. Warburton gave a sigh of
relief. Over the field they went. A pull to the left, and Pirate
wheeled; a pull to the right, and again Pirate answered, and cantered
in a circle. But he still shook his head discontentedly, and the
froth that spattered Warburton's legs was flecked with blood. The
stirrup-strap began to press sharply and hurtfully against
Warburton's injured leg. He tugged, and Pirate fell into a trot. He
was mastered.

After this Warburton did as he pleased; Pirate had learned his
lesson. His master put him through a dozen manoeuvers, and he was
vastly satisfied with the victory. In the heat of the battle
Warburton had forgotten all about where and what he was; and it was
only when he discerned far away a sunbonnet with fluttering strings
peering over the stone wall, and a boy in leggings standing on top of
the wall, that he recollected. A wave of exhilaration swept through
his veins. He had conquered the horse before the eyes of the one