His eyes roiled and he half shied away.
"Come on!" called Slone, harshly.
He got a hand on the horse, pulled him round, and, mounting in a flash, wound both lassoes round the pommel of the saddle.
"Haul him out, Nagger, old boy!" cried Slone, and he dug spurs into the black.
One plunge of Nagger's slid the stallion out of the sand.

Snorting, wild, blinded, Wildfire got up, shaking in every limb.

He could not see his enemies.

The blowing smoke, right in his nose, made scent impossible.

But in the taut lassoes he sensed the direction of his captors.