No footman could aid her now.
With a leap, Banion was in the saddle of Woodhull's horse, which had been left at hand, its bridle down.

He drove in the spurs and headed across the flat at the top speed of the fast and racy chestnut--no match, perhaps, for the black Spaniard, were the latter once extended, but favored now by the angle of the two.
Molly had not uttered a word or cry, either to her mount or in appeal for aid.

In sooth she was too frightened to do so.

But she heard the rush of hoofs and the high call of Banion's voice back of her: "Ho, Pronto! Pronto! _Vien' aqui!_" Something of a marvel it was, and showing companionship of man and horse on the trail; but suddenly the mad black ceased his plunging.

Turning, he trotted whinnying as though for aid, obedient to his master's command, "Come here!" An instant and Banion had the cheek strap.