A thought of Frank’s theories concerning a “light hand” for driving flashed through Barney’s head, but he instantly realized that this was an exceptional occasion. Even brute strength might not avail now.
Then how did Merry expect to check the runaway?
The Irish youth saw his friend, who was pedaling swiftly along the road, glance over his shoulder at the approaching runaway. Then Barney held his breath, wondering what Frank would do, but feeling that he was bound to make some desperate attempt to stop the horse.
Frank was pedaling along at high speed when the runaway reached his side. He swerved toward the horse, crying to the girl:
“Hold fast, if he swings sideways suddenly! Don’t let him pitch you out of the saddle.”
She nodded that she understood. She realized that this daring young cyclist was going to try to check the horse.
Frank was close to the animal’s head, and then Barney saw him reach out swiftly and grasp the bit. A moment later Merriwell was torn from the saddle and carried along, dangling at the head of the runaway.
“Hurro!” shouted Barney. “It’s just loike th’ b’y! It’s niver a bit is he afraid av anything at all, at all!”
With a death grip, Frank clung to the bit, knowing he might receive fatal injuries beneath the feet of the horse if his hold was broken. With his other hand he reached up and obtained a hold. He lifted his feet so they did not touch the ground, and, within three seconds, the speed of the runaway slackened.
Then, still clinging, Frank talked to the horse softly, soothingly, reassuringly. His words were snatched out sometimes, sometimes broken, but there was nothing in the sound of his voice to add to the fears of the frightened animal. Instead, there was something to calm and quiet the frantic creature.