The brisk south wind filled his wide nostrils as he turned his graceful neck from side to side, till, finding that work was meant, and not play, he began to hold his head straight before him, and rush steadily forward.
And Sam, poor Sam! all his hopes for life now brought down to this: to depend on the wind and pluck of an unconscious horse.

One stumble now, and it were better to lie down on the plain and die.

He was in the hands of God, and he felt it.

He said one short prayer, but that towards the end was interrupted by the wild current of his thoughts.
Was there any hope?
They, the devils, would have been drinking at the Mayfords', and perhaps would go slow; or would they ride fast and wild?
After thinking a short time, he feared the latter.

They had tasted blood, and knew that the country would be roused on them shortly.