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 assault, 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.