For a second the girl’s head was in a whirl. So unexpected was this mad dash that she was all but thrown from the saddle. Apparently an experienced rider, she regained her balance, clung to the pommel of the saddle for an instant, then gripping the reins, she screamed:
“Whoa, Dick! Whoa! Whoa!”
Had her scream been “Go Dick! Go!” it would not have had a different effect. He simply redoubled his speed.
Then it was that the State Street throng of shoppers viewed a performance that was not on the program and one they would not soon forget—a hatless, coatless girl, hair flying, cheeks aflame, dashing madly down the street astride a sturdy police horse.
Some laughed, some cheered, others gasped in astonishment and fright. A corner policeman leaped for the reins, but missed. Panic spread through the cross streets. It was a bad morning for jay-walkers. Having failed to see the on-coming charger, they would leap boldly before a slow-moving auto to give one startled look upward, then to register the blankest surprise and shy suddenly backward. Had it not been such a serious business, Cordie would have laughed at the expressions on their faces; but this was no laughing matter. To all appearances she had stolen a policeman’s horse, and that in broad daylight.
Suddenly a second police horse swung out into the street.
“Stop! Stop! I arrest you!” shouted the rider.
“That’s easy said,” the girl murmured in an agony of fear lest Dick should trample someone under his feet. “It’s easy said. I wish you would.”
Evidently Dick did not agree with these sentiments, for the instant he sensed this rival his head went higher, a great snort escaped his nostrils and he was away with a fresh burst of speed which left the surprised officer three lengths behind.
“Oh! Oh! What shall I do!” groaned the girl.