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216 the opening by main strength. I had the rope from the saddle in my hands in an instant, and throwing it around his fore-legs, I sprang to one side, and with my whole strength attempted to trip him. The brute jumped backward and refused to fall, while the rope ran through my hands, tearing the skin, and searing the flesh as if I had grasped a red-hot iron. I remembered at that moment having seen a Mexican vaquero showing off his skill in horsemanship, at San Jose, amid an admiring throng, and making the sneering remark to a friend, "And he is nothing but a bull-driver, after all." In that time of supreme agony, I would have sacrificed every advantage of birth, education, talent, and professional skill, and changed places with that uneducated, despised, bull-driving Greaser, merely to have received in turn the gift of the ability to perform the trick of throwing down a horse. My foot struck a stick of wood, such as is used for burning on the locomotives, which was lying on the ground, and I instantly stooped to get it, determined to beat the brains out of the brute with it, or at least stun him into insensibility, and then pull him into the opening. It was frozen fast in the ice, and I could not tear it loose, though I put forth strength which seemed herculean, in the frenzy of my excitement. It occurred to me that I had a pocket-knife, and I might cut his throat; but the train was almost upon me, and there was no time for him to bleed to death; this reflection did not consume a second and a half. In my despair, I gave one long-drawn yell—"Help!" No answer came.

The train rushed on, as it seemed to me, with