Maid Sally made no mistake that time.
Raising her arm, she gave the man's horse a cut across his face, which set him jumping madly, putting the others into a panic also.
At the same moment, Sally cried in Hotspur's ear, "Go on, boy! Now, now, Hotspur, sh! sh!" And she patted his neck quickly but gently and pressed a foot against his side.
With one leap forward, Hotspur was off on a hot race that Sally could not control. She lay along his back, rolling from side to side, as Hotspur, his fierce blood now up, tore by bushes, trees, pounded over a little bridge, dashed up one hill, down another, and only yielded to Sally's soft calls as they came to a sleeping village and a clock struck three.
"I really haven't been one mite afraid," said the plucky maiden.
In another hour she felt that she ought to be near Farmer Hinds's. And she was glad to see a yoke of oxen lumbering along, a great covered wagon behind them. Judging by his appearance, a colored man walked beside them.
Furniture was piled in the wagon, and Sally easily guessed that a family were about to move, and a servant had been sent on before daybreak with some of the furniture.
"I say, Uncle," she called, pleasantly, "whar dat man Hinds have his farm?"
"Whar you get dat hoss?" was the reply.
"Whar dat Hinds live?" cried Sally.