THE ACCIDENT
there was a stumble, a cry, the dull shock of a fall I reined up with a suddenness which nearly unseated me and swung down from the saddle, peering and listening. Some accident had occurred—but what? There was no sound, not even a moan or struggle yonder in the dark. Slowly pushed forward on foot, the tired, panting animal trailing along after me.
All excitement and exhilaration of the chase were gone. There was nothing in my heart now but sympathy for this girl; her supreme effort to be of service to her cause had aroused my deepest respect. What had happened to her? In a measure I already knew—her laboring mare had stumbled in the darkness, and gone down, flinging her headlong. That she had been hurt, seriously hurt, the silence seemed to indicate—but how seriously? I went forward quaking, my heart beating like that of a timid girl in the dark. I came first upon the gray mare, a motionless smudge in the road, lying head under, in such a posture I knew instantly the animal's neck had been broken. Fully ten feet beyond the girl lay, just at the edge of the track, her face upturned to the clouded skies dropped upon my knees, drew off her gauntlet glove and felt her wrist. There was a noticeable pulse; an instant later I was enabled to distinguish the faint pulsations of the heart. Unconscious though she was, the terrible fall had not killed her. There was water in the canteen dangling at my saddle bow, and I ran back to where the roan stood, and began hastily to bathe the white face, the contour of which I could barely perceive. Very slowly the returning breath came in greater volume
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