Duncan McClean, looking ill and weak and helpless, crowded his daughter to the wall, standing between her and the Prince; but Jaimihr aimed a swinging sabre at him, and the missionary fell.

His daughter stooped to bend over him, and Jaimihr seized her below the arms.

A second later he had hoisted her to his saddle-bow and was spurring hell-bent-for-leather for the open country.
Two things prevented him from making his escape.

Five of Alwa's men, returning from pursuing fugitives, cut off his flight in one direction, and the extra weight on his horse prevented him from getting clear by means of speed alone--as he might have done otherwise, for Cunningham's mare was growing tired.
Jaimihr rode for two minutes with the frenzy of a savage before he saw the futility of it.

It was Cunningham's mare, gaining on him stride over stride, that warned him he would be cut down like a dog from behind unless he surrendered or let go his prize.
So he laughed and threw the girl to the ground.