where the wagon had gone
over, scraping rocks and bushes from its path. Fence posts were strewn
at all angles down the incline, and far down a horse was standing with
part of the harness on him and with his head drooping dispiritedly.
Her father she could not see, nor the other horse, nor the wagon. A
clump of young trees hid the lower declivity. Lorraine did not stop to
think of what she would find down there. Sliding, running, she
followed the traces of the wreck to where the horse was standing. It
was Caroline, looking very dejected but apparently unhurt, save for
skinned patches here and there where she had rolled over rocks.

A little farther, just beyond the point of the grove which they seemed
to have missed altogether, lay the other horse and what was left of the
wagon. Brit she did not see at all. She searched the bushes, looked
under the wagon, and called and called.

A full-voiced shout answered her from farther up the canyon, and she
ran stumbling toward the sound, too agonised to shed tears or to think
very clearly. It was not her father's voice; she knew that beyond all
doubt. It was no voice that she had ever heard before. It had a clear
resonance that once heard would not have been easily forgotten. When
she saw them finally, her father was being propped up in a half-sitting
position, and the strange man was holding something to his lips.

"Just a little water. I carry me a bottle of water always in my
pocket," said Swan, glancing up at her when she had reached them. "It
sometimes makes a man's head think better when he has been hurt, if he
can drink a little water or something."

Brit swallowed and turned his face away from the tilted bottle. "I
jumped--but I didn't jump quick enough," he muttered thickly. "The
chain pulled loose. Where's the horses, Raine?"

"They're all right. Caroline's standing over there. Are you hurt
much, dad?" It was a futile question, because Brit was already going
off into unconsciousness.

"He's hurt pretty bad," Swan declared honestly; looking up at her with
his eyes grown serious. "I was across the walley and I saw him coming
down the road like rolling rocks down a hill. I came quick. Now we
make stretcher, I think, and carry him home. I could take him on my
back, but that is hurting him too much." He looked at her--through
her, it seemed to Lorraine. In spite of her fear, in spite of her
grief, she felt that Swan was reading her very soul, an