Mr. Davenport ran up the track in an agony of fear, ready to head off the runaway animal if it seemed advisable. The jockeys followed in his wake.
"That is the child's father. How terrible it must be for him," said some of the spectators.
Dollie's speed remained unabated.
When she was three-quarters of the way around, Mr. Davenport was almost within hailing distance of his brave little girl who still clung to the excited horse.
Mr. Davenport was undecided whether to try to stop the horse or not, for fear a sudden stop might unseat his child.
Beth saw her father and grew excited.
"Oh, papa," she cried, taking her hand from the pommel to wave it to him.
The action came near being fatal. Dollie was making the curve. Beth swayed, and Mr. Davenport and many another spectator shuddered, fearing she would be dashed to death. She, however, proved a better rider than they expected. She was growing accustomed to the rapid motion of the horse, and gained confidence thereby. She straightened herself, clinging with one hand and gathering up the reins that had been hanging loose, with the other. Then she pulled on them again, crying:
"Whoa, Dollie, whoa."
Dollie perhaps was tiring of her mad run, for she heeded the frantic appeal. Gently as any well-regulated machinery, she slackened speed.