Almost in the same instant Satan bit the rump of a horse in front of him.
Then up reared Prescotts mount.
Dick was a good horseman, but this move had caught him unawares. A horse at a trot is not usually hard to manage, and Prescott had not been on his guard against any such trick.
By the time that Satan came down from his plunge Dick had a firm seat and a strong hand on the bridle. But Satan was a tough-mouthed animal. His unlooked-for antics had caused the horses just ahead to swerve.
Through the scattering four in front plunged Satan, fire in his eyes, his nostrils quivering.
Captain Albutt took the situation in at once.
"Squad halt!" he roared. Be cool, Mr. Prescott! Bring your mount down with tact, not brute force.
Satan, having taken the bit between his teeth, went tearing around the tan-bark, not in the least minding the tight hold that his rider had on the bridle, or the way that the bit cut into his mouth. Satan blamed his own rider for that sharp, stinging jab, and he meant to unseat that rider.
Dick kept perfectly cool, though he realized much of his own great peril with this infuriated beast.
Captain Albutt, watching closely, became anxious when he saw that the cadet was failing in bringing down the temper of the infuriated beast.