Jose heard it whining behind him, glanced quickly, thought to beat it to the end of its leash.

He leaned far over--farther, so that his cheek touched the flying black mane of his horse.

He dug deep with his spurs--but he dug too late.
The little loop narrowed--it had reached as far as sixty feet of rawhide could reach and have any loop at all.

It sank, and caught the outflung head of the black horse; slid back swiftly and caught Jose as the horse lunged and swung short around; tightened and pressed Jose's cheek hard against the black mane as the rawhide drew tight across the back of his neck.
The black horse plunged and tried to back away; the white one stiffened against the pull of the rope.

Between the two of them, they came near finishing Jose once for all.