He reached the end of the rope. It came tight again, and with the tightening--the battle! Thrice more he charged the man with all the hate his wild heart could summon, but not once did those dreadful teeth find that which they sought. Again the front hoof met its mark and racked the flesh of VB's leg, but that did not matter. He could stand that punishment, for he was winning! He was countering the stallion's efforts, which made the contest an even break; and his rope was on and he had dealt one telling blow with his quirt. Two points! And the boy screamed his triumph as the missile he swung landed again, on the soft nose this time, the nose so wrinkled with hateful desire--and the Captain swung off to one side from the stinging force of it.

Not in delight at punishment was that cry. The blow on the skull, the slug at the nose stabbed VB to his tenderest depths. But he knew it must be so, and his shout was a shout of conquest--of the first man a.s.serting primal authority, of the last man coming into his own!

The dust they stirred rose stiflingly. Down there under the hill no moving breath of air would carry it off. The pony under VB grunted and strained, but was jerked sharply about by the rushes of the heavier stallion, heavier and built of things above mere flesh and bone and tendon. The Captain's belly dripped water; VB's face was glossy with it, his hair plastered down to brow and temple.

The three became tired. In desperation the Captain dropped the fight, turned to run, plunged out as though to part the strands. VB's heart leaped as his faith in the rope faltered--but it held, and the stallion, pulled about, lost his footing, floundered, stumbled, went down, and rolled into the shale, feet threshing the air.

It was an opening--the widest VB had had, wider than he could have hoped for, and he rushed in, stabbing his horse shamelessly with spurs and babbling witlessly as he strove to make slack in the rope. The slack came. Then the quick jerk of the wrist--the trick he had perfected back there in Jed's corral--and a potential half-hitch traveled down the rope.

The Captain floundered to get his feet under him, and the loop in the rope dissolved. Again the wrist twitch, again the shooting loop and--

"Scotched!" screamed Young VB. "Scotched! You're my property!"

Scotched! The rope had found its hold about the off hind ankle of the soiled stallion, and there it clung in a tight, relentless grasp. The rope from neck to limb was so short that it kept the foot clear of the ground, crippling the Captain, and as the great horse floundered to his feet VB had him powerless. The stallion stood dazed, looking down at the thing which would not let him kick, which would not let him step.

Then he sprang forward, and when the rope came tight he was upended, a shoulder plowing the shale.

"It's no use!" the man cried, his voice crackling in excitement. "I've got you right--right--_right!_"

But the Captain would not quit. He tried even then to rise to his hind legs and make a.s.sault, but the effort only sent him falling backward, squealing--and left him on his side, moaning for his gone liberty.

For he knew. He knew that his freedom was gone, even as he made his last floundering, piteous endeavors. He got up and tried to run, but every series of awkward moves only sent his black body down into the dust and dirt, and at last he rested there, head up, defiance still in his eyes, but legs cramped under him.

And then VB wanted to cry. He went through all the sensations--the abrupt drop of spirits, the swelling in the throat, the tickling in the nostrils.

"Oh, Captain!" he moaned. "Captain, don't you see I wouldn't harm you?

Only you had to be mine! I had to get bigger than you were, Captain--for my own salvation. It was the only way, boy; it was the only way!"

And he sat there for a long time, his eyes without the light of triumph, on his captive.

His heart-beats quickened, a new warmth commenced to steal through his veins, a new faith in self welled up from his innermost depths, making his pulses sharp and hard, making his muscles swell, sending his spirit up and up.

He had fought his first big fight and he had won!

Blood began to drip from the stallion's nose.

"It's where I struck you!" whispered VB, the triumph all gone again, solicitation and a vast love possessing him. "It's where I struck you, Captain. Oh, it hurts me, too--but it must be so, because things are as they are. There will be more hurts, boy, before we're through. But it must be!"

His voice gritted on the last.

Sounds from behind roused VB, and he looked around.

The sunlight was going even from the ridge up there, and the whole land was in shadow. He was a long way from the ranch with this trophy--his, but still ready to do battle at the end of his rope.

"Got one?" a man cried, coming up, and VB recognized him as one of the trio of fence builders, riding back to their camp.

"Yes--one," muttered VB, and turned to look at the Captain.

Then the man cried: "You've got th' Captain!"

"It's the Captain," said VB unsteadily, as though too much breath were in his lungs. "He's mine--you know--mine!"

The others looked at him in silent awe.

CHAPTER XI

A Letter and a Narrative

Jed Avery had been away from Young VB almost two weeks, and he had grown impatient in the interval. So he pushed his bay pony up the trail from Ranger, putting the miles behind him as quickly as possible. The little man had fretted over every step of the journey homeward, and from Colt on into the hills it was a conscious effort that kept him from abusing his horse by overtravel.

"If he should have gone an' busted over while I was away I'd--I'd never forgive myself--lettin' that boy go to th' bad just for a d.i.n.ky claim!"

It was the thousandth time he had made the declaration, and as he spoke the words a thankfulness rose in his heart because of what he had not heard in Ranger. He knew that VB had kept away from town. Surely that was a comfort, an a.s.surance, a justification for his faith that was firm even under the growling.

Still, there might have been a wanderer with a bottle--

And as he came in sight of his own buildings Jed put the pony to a gallop for the first time during that long journey. Smoke rose from the chimney, the door stood open, an atmosphere of habitation was about the place, and that proved something. He crowded his horse close against the gate, leaned low, unfastened the hasp, and rode on through.

"Oh, VB!" he called, and from the cabin came an answering hail, a sc.r.a.ping of chair legs, and the young fellow appeared in the doorway.

"How's th'--"

Jed did not finish the question then--or ever. His eagerness for the meeting, the light of antic.i.p.ation that had been in his face, disappeared. He reined up his horse with a stout jerk, and for a long moment sat there motionless, eyes on the round corral. Then his shoulders slacked forward and he raised a hand to scratch his chin in bewilderment.

For yonder, his nose resting on one of the gate bars, watching the newcomer, safe in the inclosure, alive, just as though he belonged there, stood the Captain!

After that motionless moment Jed turned his eyes back to Young VB, and stared blankly, almost witlessly. Then he raised a limp hand and half pointed toward the corral, while his lips formed a soundless question.

VB stepped from the doorway and walked toward Jed, smiling.

"Yes," he said with soft pride, as though telling of a sacred thing, "the Captain is there--in our corral."

Jed drew a great breath.

"Did you do it--and alone?"

"Well, there wasn't any one else about," VB replied modestly.

Again Jed's chest heaved.

"Well, I'm a--"

He ended in inarticulate distress, searching for a proper expletive, mouth open and ready, should he find one. Then he was off his horse, both hands on the boy's shoulders, looking into the eyes that met his so steadily.

"You done it, Young VB!" he cried brokenly. "You done it! Oh, I'm proud of you! Your old adopted daddy sure is! You done it all by yourself, an' it's somethin' that n.o.body has ever been able to do before!"