Satan tripped and plunged down, throwing me as gracefully as an aerial tumbler wings his flight.

I alighted in a bush, without feeling of scratch or pain.

As Satan recovered and ran past, I did not seek to make him stop, but getting a good grip on the pommel, I vaulted up again.

Once more he raced like a wild mustang.

And from nearer and nearer in front pealed the alluring sounds of the chase.
Satan was creeping close to Wallace and Jones, with Frank looming white through the occasional pinyons.