She pulled a stinging sapling from a bush, thinking to give Hotspur a smart switch, and so race by as the men came up. Had she but known it, a gentle slap from her hand on his shining flank and a hiss in ear would have sent the proud animal bounding forward like a deer, exactly as she wished.
So fine a horse would be noticed anywhere, and men were abroad who would gladly have snatched Hotspur as a rich prize, and borne him away where a great price he would have brought and none too many questions asked.
Sally gave the men a wide path, but one called, sharply:
"Halt! Who goes there? In the king's name, who art thou?"
Sally gave Hotspur a wild cut from the whip in her hand. The spirited creature stopped short, then reared so high that only by flinging her arms about his neck did the maid keep from being flung to the ground.
"Hotspur! Hotspur!" she cried in his ear, "go on, oh, go on!"
Aloud, she cried:
"Oh, wot Mars' Kendall, wot Mars' Hancocke do if we gets late!"
"Who are you?" cried another man, riding nearer; and Sally wailed again about getting late.
"Stop your nonsense!" sung out another man, trying to get close enough to the still prancing Hotspur to clutch at the frail bridle.