Over neck and shoulders and tender flanks he whirled the lash; it was not intelligence fighting brute strength, but one animal conquering another and rejoicing in the battle.
The horse responded, furiously he responded, but still the lash fell, and the bucking grew more cunning, perhaps, but less violent.

Yet to the wildly cheering audience the fight seemed more dubious than ever.

Then, in the very centre of the arena, the stallion stopped in the midst of a twisting course of bucking and stood with widely braced legs and fallen head.

Strength was left in him, but the cunning, savage mind knew defeat.
Once more the quirt whirled in the air and fell with a resounding crack, but the stallion merely switched his tail and started forward at a clumsy stumbling trot.

The thunder of the host was too hoarse for applause; they saw a victory and a defeat but what they had wanted was blood, and a death.