At that instant the black horse stepped on a loose stone, and a second later Merriwell was off and the animal was down. A shout of triumph came from the pursuers.
Like a flash Frank sprang up, and the horse rose at the same instant. Into the saddle Merry leaped.
“Go it, my boy—fine boy!” the fugitive called, and away sprang the horse.
The pursuing men expressed their rage and dismay.
But the noble horse had been injured, and it was not many moments before Frank saw the creature was going lame. This caused Merry some anxiety.
“Good boy—noble fellow!” he said, leaning forward and patting the creature’s glossy neck.
The horse turned its head a bit, its breath fluttering through its throbbing nostrils. It seemed that a bond of sympathy had been established between horse and rider, and the intelligent animal was straining every nerve to do its best.
The pursuers saw something was wrong, saw the horse was lame, and again they shouted their triumph.
The hostler excepted. He was enraged, and he gave vent to his anger.
“The fellow has spoiled our best saddle horse,” he grated. “He shall pay for it!”