Then he deliberately coiled his rope and fastened it to the pommel of the saddle, taking extra care with it.

This done he turned with a cold grin to Kelton, nodding his head shortly.
Kelton pulled the neckerchief from the black's eyes, let go of its head, and scurried to the top of the corral fence.

Before he could reach it Calumet had vaulted into the saddle, and before the black could realize what had happened, his feet were in the stirrups.
For an instant the Black stood, its legs trembling, the muscles under its glossy coat quivering, its ears laid flat, its nostrils distended, its mouth open, its eyes wild and bloodshot.

Then, tensed for movement, but uncertain, waiting a brief instant before yielding to the thousand impulses that flashed over him, he felt the rowels of Calumet's spurs as they were driven viciously into his sides.
He sprang wildly upward, screaming with the sudden pain, and came down, his legs asprawl, surprised, enraged, outraged.

Alighting, he instantly lunged--forward, sideways, with an eccentric movement which he felt must dislodge the tormentor on his back.