That cavalry mount was a magnificent beast. Corporal Overton was quickly up alongside the victoria. Then he gained on the horses.
"Now, in close, you good old brute!" glowed Overton, though his lips were bloodless as he took the chance and threw the bridle over.
Bending sideways from the saddle, Corporal Hal reached the bridle of the nigh horse.
Now he hung on grimly to the bridle of the runaway, at the same time using his other arm to bring the splendidly trained cavalry horse back on its haunches.
That nigh runaway was checked, somewhat, but the pull threatened to drag Corporal Hal's left arm out of its socket.
Something had to give way!
Then, with a suppressed yell, Overton felt himself being torn from saddle.
He held on. The runaways tried to forge ahead at renewed speed, but the determined doughboy soldier, holding still to the bridle of one of the animals, put a big check on the speed of the runaways.
A few yards further they dashed, then slowed. Now a score of artillerymen, regular and militia, sprang in and seized the animals just as Corporal Hal Overton, his uniform torn and dust-grimed, and he himself bleeding, fell in the dust.
But the runaways were stopped, and other soldiers assisted the woman and her fourteen-year-old daughter in safety to the ground.