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"Oh! where's the rider?"
She gazed around, ran to and fro, glanced down the little slope, and beyond,
but she did not see anything resembling the form of a man. Then she ran back.
Lucy took another quick look at the red stallion. She did not believe either
his legs or back were hurt. He was just played out and tangled and tied in the
ropes, and could not get up. The shaggy black horse stood there braced and
indomitable. But he, likewise, was almost ready to drop. Looking at the
condition of both horses and the saddle and ropes, Lucy saw what a fight there
had been, and a race! Where was the rider? Thrown, surely, and back on the
trail, perhaps dead or maimed.
Lucy went closer to the stallion so that she could almost touch him. He saw
her. He was nearly choked. Foam and blood wheezed out with his heaves. She
must do something quickly. And in her haste she pricked her arms and shoulders
on the cactus.
She led the black horse closer in, letting the ropes go, slack. The black
seemed as glad of that release as she was.


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