With a fierce snort, the horse made for him
instantly, and his white teeth flashed as he snapped; but again a
heavy blow from the loaded whip caused him to swerve, and even at
the instant of the swerve, measuring the distance with steady
eyes, and bending his supple body for the spring, Nigel bounded
into the air and fell with his legs astride the broad back of the
yellow horse. For a minute, with neither saddle nor stirrups to
help him, and the beast ramping and rearing like a mad thing
beneath him, he was hard pressed to hold his own. His legs were
like two bands of steel welded on to the swelling arches of the
great horse's ribs, and his left hand was buried deep in the tawny
mane.
Never had the dull round of the lives of the gentle brethren of
Waverley been broken by so fiery a scene. Springing to right and
swooping to left, now with its tangled wicked head betwixt its
forefeet, and now pawing eight feet high in the air, with scarlet,
furious nostrils and maddened eyes, the yellow horse was a thing
of terror and of beauty. But the lithe figure on his back,
bending like a reed in the wind to every movement, firm below,
pliant above, with calm inexorable face, and eyes which danced and
gleamed with the joy of contest, still held its masterful place
for all that the fiery heart and the iron muscles of the great
beast could do.
Once a long drone of dismay rose from the monks, as rearing higher
and higher yet a last mad effort sent the creature toppling over
backward upon its rider.
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