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 ing the air and snapping his teeth. Old horsemen who have handled stallions all their lives say there is no more terrible sight than a horse, gone mad with rage, turned into a terrific fighting-machine.

But two could play at this game, so Sir Wilton reared and also advanced. When they were about twenty feet apart both suddenly came down on all fours, and the black stallion struck savagely at his adversary with his fore-feet, while Sir Wilton in turn sprang forward and tore a large piece of hide from the black imp's face. This seemed fairly to drive Black Fury out of his senses, and he threw all precaution to the wind and charged his adversary recklessly, striking, biting, and kicking in rapid succession.

Sir Wilton met this onslaught as well ashe could. He lashed out with both heels several times, and twice landed stunning blows on the black horse's chest, but the latter was as tough as an oak and could take more punishment than his high-bred