His unlooked-for antics had caused the horses just ahead to swerve.
Through the scattering four in front plunged Satan, fire in his eyes, his nostrils quivering.
Captain Albutt took the situation in at once.
"Squad halt!" he roared.

Be cool, Mr.Prescott! Bring your mount down with tact, not brute force.
Satan, having taken the bit between his teeth, went tearing around the tan-bark, not in the least minding the tight hold that his rider had on the bridle, or the way that the bit cut into his mouth.

Satan blamed his own rider for that sharp, stinging jab, and he meant to unseat that rider.
Dick kept perfectly cool, though he realized much of his own great peril with this infuriated beast.
Captain Albutt, watching closely, became anxious when he saw that the cadet was failing in bringing down the temper of the infuriated beast.
Satan was more than furious; he was crafty.

Master of many tricks, and with a record for injuring many a rider in the past, the animal dashed about the tan-bark, seeking some way of throwing his rider.
His uneasiness increasing, Captain Albutt put spurs to his own mount and went after Satan.
"Steady, Mr.Prescott," admonished the cavalry officer, riding close.

I'll soon have a hand on your bridle, too.
Yet every time that Captain Albutt rode close, Satan waited until just the right instant, then swerved violently, snatching his head away from the risk of capture.
So villainous were these swerves that Dick had several narrow escapes from being unhorsed.