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Updated: June 8, 2025
Lucretia was well out in the lead; it was Diablo's fault, too, that they had to go back he was left standing." Crane's voice was Fate's voice. Would there never be anything but Lucretia and Diablo, seven and thirteen, thirteen and seven?
Lauzanne was loping leisurely with the action of a wooden rocking-horse. Lucretia, her long, in-tipped ears cocked eagerly forward, was throwing her head impatiently into the air as though pleading for just one strong gallop. Diablo's neck was arched like the half of a cupid's bow; his head, almost against his chest, hung heavy in the reins tight-drawn in Porter's strong hands.
"Diablo's a bad horse at the post, sure," ejaculated Crane, letting his field glass rest for an instant on his knee; "he just backs up and shakes his head viciously; evidently he doesn't like the idea of so much company." "How is Lucretia acting, Mr. Crane?" "Perfectly. You must have instilled some of your own patience into her." The girl hardly heard the implied compliment.
Freed of restraint, not battled with, the Black's stride lengthened, his nostrils spread wider, the hoofs pounded quicker and quicker until the earth echoed with their palpitating beat. The other horses heard the turmoil, and they, too, became more afraid, and took up the mad rush. Diablo's reaching nose was at Lauzanne's hip when Allis took one swift backward glance.
"It looks as though Diablo had something in him," said Crane, meditatively. "He's got the Brooklyn in him. Fancy The Dutchman in at seventy pounds; that's what it comes to. Diablo's got ninety to carry, an' he gave the other twenty pounds to-day. You've got the greatest thing on earth right in your hands now "
"Diablo, you old fool," the boy was saying, as he reached up and managed to wind his fingers in the end of Diablo's mane, "you come along and meet my friend, Bull Hunter. I figure you're going to get to know him pretty good before long. Hey, Bull, come up close to the bars so's he can see you ain't got a rope or a whip or spurs, and stick your hand out so's he can sniff at it.
But all the same, Westley, when we find a soft spot for him, an over-night sellin' purse or somethin, you'll have the leg up, with a bet down for you at a long price, see?" "I understand, sir." By the time Langdon had slipped the saddle from Diablo's back the boy had thrown a hooded blanket over him, and he was led away. "Send them home, Westley. Now, Mr.
"It won't be poachin' if I have a bet, then?" asked the Cherub, more solicitous than he had appeared at an earlier stage of the game. "Poachers don't worry me," remarked Diablo's owner. "I'm my own game keeper, and they usually get the worst of it. But you go ahead and have your bet." "Thank you, there won't be no more bad breaks made by me; but I didn't mean to give you none the worst of it.
She's got it!" he cried, eagerly. "The devil!" As Allis grasped Diablo's rein, the horse, with sudden fury at being drawn toward Lauzanne, his old foe, snapped at the Chestnut. As he did so, thrown out of his stride, his forelegs crossed and he went down in a heap with the rider underneath. The force of his gallop carried the Black full over onto his back.
These chiefs were painted, and wore only their necklaces and the customary loin-cloth, throwing their blankets about their shoulders when they had finished dancing. I noticed again Chief Diablo's great good looks. Besides, the officers had picked up many short phrases of the harsh and gutteral Apache tongue.
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