Her left foot by fortune found the cleft in the stirrup fender, her right leg swung around the tall horn, hastily concealed by a clutch at her skirt even as she grasped the heavy knotted reins.

It was then too late.

She must ride.
Banion caught at a cheek strap as he saw Woodhull's act, and the horse was the safer for an instant.

But in terror or anger at his unusual burden, with flapping skirt and no grip on his flanks, the animal reared and broke away from them all.

An instant and he was plunging across the stream for the open glade, his head low.
He did not yet essay the short, stiff-legged action of the typical bucker, but made long, reaching, low-headed plunges, seeking his own freedom in that way, perhaps half in some equine wonder of his own.