“Hold fast!” he again called to the girl.
Then the horse was turned from the road, was swept about in a complete circle, and by the time it again faced in the direction it had been running, it was brought to a stop.
“Jump down quickly,” directed Frank, as he saw the pursuing man come thundering nearer and nearer. “This horse will act bad when he comes up.”
The girl obeyed. Down from the saddle she slipped to the ground, losing no time in getting away from the prancing horse.
Up came the man, flushed of face and shaking with excitement. He gave a yank at the bit that fairly flung the black gelding upon its haunches, and he hoarsely cried:
“That confounded beast ought to be shot through the head!”
At the sound of the man’s voice the horse Frank was holding showed every symptom of fear, making a sudden attempt to break away.
Merriwell spoke soothingly to the creature, holding fast to the bit with a firm, steady hand, and patting its neck.
“It’s not the horse,” was his thought, “it’s the man who ought to be shot!”
“You are not harmed, are you, Iva?” somewhat anxiously asked the man, addressing the girl.