Some were hurled right and left.
The foremost seized the bridle of the plunging horse.
“[Hold up there, you Yankee devil!]”
“Never!” rang out the sharp retort, and the other was felled to the earth.
“On, Wildbird, on!”
The path was blocked.
In vain the noble brute struggled to free himself.
Three of the sentinels were clinging to its bridle and the plunging steed was stopped.
Others of the assailants were trying to pull the rider from his seat.
A few shots were fired, but the fight had come to such close quarters that firearms were of little use.