Fury, on the other hand, probably recognized the hated aristocratic blood, and he tormented the colt just as he had done his sire. This led to several very sharp encounters between the stallions.
It was a bitter November twilight when Sir Wilton and Black Fury finally met in a gulch among the hills. The black devil had been following Sir Wilton for days, looking for just such a chance, but the latter did not know it. Even if he had, it is doubtful if he would have shunned him, for he had now come to his full stallion strength. Besides he owed the black tormentor a good beating for the way in which he had treated little Dapples.
Although it was only November, the landscape looked like midwinter. The snow was two feet deep on the ground and the wind was bitter cold. Sir Wilton should have gone down to the farmhouse where he usually spent the winter, but this day a fit of restlessness had seized him and he had wandered far into the hills. The
