Ann's hair came down, tumbling about her shoulders, then down her back, and finally brushed the sweated coat of her runaway with its ends. The horrible sensation of falling, of pitching forward helplessly, swept through her vitals each time the animal under her leaped outward and down. It grew to an acute physical pain by its constant repetition. Her face was very white, but almost expressionless. Only her eyes betrayed the fear in her by their darkness, by their strained lids. Her mouth was fixed in determination to play the game to its end. She heard the other horse coming; Bayard's voice had called out to her. That was all she knew. This flight was horrible, tragic; with each move of her horse she feared that it must be the last, that she would be flung into those rocks, yet, somehow, she felt that it would end well. For Bayard was near her. Not so with the man. As they slid down halfway to the valley, he cried aloud to his horse again, for he saw that along the base of the drop, right at the place toward which they were floundering, a recent storm had gouged a fresh wash. Deep and narrow and rock filled, and, if her horse, unable to stop, unable to turn with any degree of safety whatever went into that ... Behind them, loosened rocks clattered along, the dust rose, their trail was marked by black blotches where the scant red soil had been turned up. The sorrel's nose reached the black's reeling rump; it stretched to his flank, to the saddle, to his shoulder.... And Ann turned her head quickly, appealingly. "Careful ... Abe! Once more ... easy ..." Bayard dropped his reins; he leaned to the left. He scratched with his spurs. His horse leaped powerfully twice, thrice, caution abandoned, risking everything now. The man swung down, his arm encircled Ann's waist, he brought the pressure of his right knee to bear against the saddle, and lifted her clear, a warm, limp weight against his body. Staggering under the added burden, the stallion gathered himself for a try at the wash which he must either clear or in which he and those he carried were to fall in a tangle. Bayard, lifting the woman high, balanced in his saddle and gathered her closer. The black floundered in uncertain jumps, throwing his head down in an effort to check his progress, was overcome by his own momentum and leaped recklessly. He misjudged, fell short and with a grunt and a thud and a threshing went down into the bald rocks that floods had piled in the gully. Abe did not try to stop, to overcome the added impetus that this new weight gave him. He lowered his head in a show of determination, took the last three strides with a swift scramble and leaped.