She knew what man rode him, too, black with smoke as he was now.

He swept close to the wagon and was off.

Something flickered there, with smoke above it, beyond the wagon by some yards.

Then he was in saddle and racing again, his eyes and teeth white in the black mask of his face.
She heard no call and no command.

But an arm reached down to hers, swept up--and she was going onward, the horn of a saddle under her, her body held to that of the rider, swung sidewise.