In Old Madras by B.M. Croker — Read

The dâk had been duly laid with six good horses, and Mallender's departure definitely fixed for the morrow. To celebrate his last ride at Wellunga, the little party had ridden unusually far afield, -- indeed so far that on a certain eminence Tara pointed out to him a faint grey line on the horizon which she believed to be Seringapatam! But the young lady was mistaken. Through the golden haze of distance, the eyes of her imagination had merely descried a city in the air! It was late as the riders approached Wellunga, the sun was hot, and the animals were pretty well done, when within a couple of hundred yards of the General's bungalow, they heard frenzied yells from the direction of the bazaar, and coming from the same quarter, beheld a rolling cloud of yellow dust. As the dust gradually dispersed, there emerged from its shelter no less a sight than the processional horse -- and man eater! He was loose, and rapidly approaching with streaming pink mane and tail. At first, he seemed only affected by the delight and abandonment of utter freedom, as he galloped headlong, kicking, squealing, and uttering a shrill equine war cry! but soon he descried the three horses, and Rustum, being of high degree, flung back a defiant challenge. In a second, the Khatiawari was chasing him open-mouthed, and Tara, frantically lashing her Arab, turned to fly; but Rustum was tired, the pursuer fresh, and full of pride and gram. Screaming and open-mouthed, he drove his prey right on to the brink of a deep nullah. Here he intended to overtake and destroy him, -- for the Khatiawari came of an old native stock, who were bred and trained to kill, in the hideous horse-fights, so popular with the Rajahs of a bygone time.

Mallender instantly grasped the situation! There was not half a second to be lost; he wheeled about, drove his spurs into the brown, and with the intention of "riding him off," dashed between the monster and his victim.