Man with No Name- Riding Satan

  Satan was a magnificent black stallion that Colonel Akers, the ranch owner, had bought for a song because no one had been able to break him. No man to pass up a bargain, the Colonel had the black brought to the ranch and offered a modest bounty to any hand who could break him. A handful of the more daring tried and were thrown within a few seconds. The Colonel finally sent for Bib Lansing, a professional horse-breaker, who was reputed to be the best in the Territory.

  Lansing studied Satan for a long time, walking around and around the splendid animal and shaking his head. Finally he came over to the Colonel, who was perched on the corral fence with his hands.

  "I'm not a man to weasel-word, Colonel. I'll ride him if you insist, but I'll put it to you straight. Neither I nor anybody else will ever break that horse. He's a born man-hater. He'll kill a rider or himself before he'll knuckle under to anyone. I'll be wasting your money."

  "Poppycock!" the Colonel snorted. "The horse that can't be broken hasn't been born. I've got too much invested in the brute already to sell him to a glue factory. I have to pay you for your trip, anyhow, so go ahead and ride him."

  Satan was roped and cinched up tight to the snubbing post. A scarf used as a blindfold kept the great horse quiet while he was being saddled and bridled. Lansing eased himself into the saddle and waved a hand. The ropes were released, the blindfold whipped away and all hell broke loose.

  The big black exploded like a keg of dynamite, rearing, sunfishing, buck-jumping across the corral. Lansing stayed in the saddle longer than any other rider had but inevitably his departure time came. A particularly vicious jump sent Satan's rider flying.

  Lansing slammed into a post of the corral fence head-first and rebounded. He hit the ground and lay stunned and motionless, a cloud of yellow dust smoking up around him. Before the handlers could leap down from the fence, Satan whirled around, gave one mighty bound and came down on the unconscious figure with all four murderous hooves close-bunched.
...

  As he did almost everything, he rode well. He had an instinctive sense of balance that kept him glued to the saddle through the spine-cracking jumps without the humiliation of having to grab for the saddle horn. He was very close to matching Lansing's record time when it happened.

  There was a snap! Rider and saddle flew into the air, a broken cinch strap whipping behind. The handlers were down and running before he struck the ground. They were fast but Satan was faster. The youngster was still trying to get his foot out of stirrup on the under side when Satan lashed a savage kick. It caught the fallen man on the right side of the chest. There was the brittle sound of breaking ribs and a wave of pain that made him gasp.

  Then the handlers were driving Satan back. The youngster got his foot free and struggled to stand. He got as far as his knees and had to stop to let another wave of pain ease off. As he hung forward, his eyes fell on the broken end of the cinch strap. Unmistakably the strap had been cut halfway through with a sharp knife.

- A Coffin Full of Dollars, chapter 20