He did not think of that, however, for
it would have been the same had a bitter enemy been in peril.
The steed was coming like the whirlwind. The clamp of his hoofs, his
snorting nostrils, his flying mane, and dangling reins, the frail vehicle
bounding from side to side and often on the point of overturning, the
glimpses of the lady bravely holding on and uttering no scream,--all these
made up the most startling picture on which Tom Gordon had looked for many
a day.
Stationing himself in the middle of the road, he swung his hat and arms,
and shouted to the mad animal in the hope of making him slacken his speed
sufficiently to allow the occupant to leap out. The horse saw him, shied a
little, moderated his pace a trifle, and then plunged forward on a run.
Clearly he was not to be checked by that means. Tom Gordon braced himself
for the shock of the supreme effort he had formed.
In a twinkling his strong grip had closed about the strap of the bit, and
he threw his whole weight against the brute, who reared, plunged,
struggled, struck with his fore feet, and strove to shake the incubus
loose, but in vain.
Pages:
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213