Terrible fear and hate were expressed in that piercing neigh.

And shaggy, wet, dusty red, with all of brute savageness in the look and action of his head, he appeared hideous.
As Slone leaped within roping distance the avalanche slipped a foot or two, halted, slipped once more, and slowly started again with that low roar.

He did not care whether it slipped or stopped.

Like a wolf he leaped closer, whirling his rope.

The loop hissed round his head and whistled as he flung it.