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Updated: May 13, 2025
It was only a gleam of sunshine and was gone almost at once, but it told him that he was fast coming on the river. The final shoals, maybe, where wreck alone awaited him. Just for an instant his purpose wavered. There was still time to drop to the ground. He would have to chance the mare's flying heels. And it might save him.
McCager was a solid man of intrepid courage and honesty, but grinding grist was his avocation, not strategy and tactics. The enemy had such masters of intrigue as Purvy and Judge Hollman. Then, a lean sorrel mare came jogging into view, switching her fly- bitten tail, and on the mare's back, urging him with a long, leafy switch, sat a woman. Behind her sagged the two loaded ends of a corn- sack.
She pulled the reins over the little wild mare's head and tried to pull her ax from its sheath. But her benumbed fingers refused to act. "Keep moving, Jude!" urged Douglas. "Just till I can get a fire started. Don't stop walking for a moment!" When at last a blaze was going before the rocks, Doug unrolled the blankets from the lead-horse and wrapped Judith in them.
None long had any hope as they saw the white rollers bury the two heads, of the horse and the man, while the set of the current steadily carried them away from the shore. It was only a miracle that the two bobbing black dots again and again came into view. They could see the mare's muzzle flat, extended toward the shore; back of it, upstream, the head of the man.
I turned my mare's nose towards the bank, touched her with the spur, and at once she scrambled over. Dulcie followed. Around us a forest of pines, dark, motionless, forbidding, towered into the sky. To right and left moss-grown rides wound their way into the undulating cover, becoming tunnels in the distance as they vanished into blackness, for the day was almost spent.
The black bulk of Kelpie lay outstretched on the yellow sand, giving now and then a sprawling kick or a wamble like a lumpy snake, and her soul commiserated each movement as if it had been the last throe of dissolution, while the grey fire of the mare's one visible fierce eye, turned up from the shadow of Malcolm's superimposed bulk, seemed to her tender heart a mute appeal for woman's help.
Sometimes a wilder track led Stair and Louis unbreathed across an open moor, the path being too narrow to ride abreast, when it was the mare's privilege to lead. She snuffed the air, and even while keeping to her pace, would reach forward her neck to smell the better.
Could she not make the sacrifice for her sake? Yes, she could and would. Theodora flung up her head with a gesture that meant decision. It was only three miles to Spencer; she could easily walk it in an hour and, as it was Christmas Eve, the shops would be open late. She muse walk, for Ned could not be taken out again, and the mare's foot was sore.
The mare's milk has a sweetish, almond-like flavor, and is very thin and bluish in hue. At three o'clock in the morning, the mares are taken from the colts and shut up in a long shed which is not especially weather-proof. In fact, there is not much "weather" except wind to be guarded against on the steppe.
It was the running buck, and had not Delaney been the hardest buster in the county, would have flung him headlong like a sack of sand. But he eased off the bit, gripping the mare's flanks with his knees, and the buckskin, having long since known her master, came to hand quivering, the bloody spume dripping from the bit upon the slippery floor.
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