And presently they did come to his gate, where the silver-edged willows came close on the one side and the wide hay meadows reached out on the other toward the curving pathway of the river. He pulled up. "Could you hold these horses, ma'am, fer a minute? I got to open the gate." He handed her the reins, it never occurring to him that there was any one in the world who had never driven horses. She was frightened, but resolved to appear brave and useful. Sim Gage began to untwist the short club which bound the wire gate shut. He pulled it back, and clucked to the horses, seeing that she did not start them. Mary Warren knew nothing of horses. It seemed to her that the correct thing to do was to drop the reins loosely, shaking them a little. The half wild horses, with their uncanny brute sense, knew the absence of a master, and took instant advantage of the knowledge. With one will they sprang, lunged, and started forward, plunging. Mary Warren dropped the lines. "_Sit still there_!" she heard a voice call out imperatively. Then, "Whoa! damn you, whoa now!" She could see nothing, but sensed combat. Sim Gage had sprung forward and caught the cheek strap of the nearest horse. It reared and struck out wildly. She heard an exclamation, as though of pain, but could not see him as he swung across to the other horse and caught his fingers in its nostrils, still calling out to them, imperiously, in the voice of a commander. At length they halted, quieted. She heard his voice speaking brokenly. "Set still where you are, ma'am. I'll tie 'em." "You're hurt!" she called out. "It was my fault." "I'm all right. Just you set still." Apparently he finished fastening the horses to something. She heard him come to the end of the seat, knew that he was reaching up his arms to help her down. But when she swung her weight from the seat she felt him wince. "One of 'em caught me on the knee," he admitted. "It was my new pants, too." She could not see his face, gray with pain now under the dust. "It's all my fault--I didn't dare tell you--I don't know anything about horses. I don't know anything about anything out here!" "Take hold of my left hand coat sleeve," he answered to her confession. "We'll walk on into the yard. Keep hold of me, and I'll keep hold of them horses. I'll look out if they jump." For some reason of their own the team became less fractious. He limped along the road, his hand at the bit of the more vicious. She could feel him limp. "You're hurt--they did jump on you!" she reiterated. "Knee's busted some, but we'll git along. Don't you mind. Anyhow, we're here. Now, you go off, a little ways--it's all level here--and I'll unhitch these critters."