Anthony's horse was dashing at the wall. The brute's head was now round biting itself, then down between its fore-hoofs, in a frantic paroxysm of kicks. Then it rushed forward, halted, spun round, then leaped with all four feet into the air, uttering screams. Everyone was cowed--no one dared approach, and yet the situation of Anthony was critical. Another bound, maybe, and his horse would be over the wall, and roll with him among the masses of rock big as haystacks, over and among which the river dashed itself to threads and flakes of foam, or went down into one of the wine-dark pools, where the eddies swirled and dissolved their foam before taking another leap. Instinctively, overawed by one of those waves of feeling which come on men and beasts alike, all sounds ceased, the men no longer spoke, nor did the dogs bark. Only the churning of the colts' and ponies' feet was heard within the living ring of men, and the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle of a sheep-bell beyond the river. The horse was rearing to leap. At that moment--a shot, and the horse fell like lead. Urith had snatched the pistol from the holster of her uncle's saddle, had leaped to the ground, run forward, and fired. Silence remained as unbroken as before, save for the tinkle of the sheep-bell, till Anthony disengaged himself from his fallen horse, stood up, shook himself, and then a cheer burst from all the men present, who pressed forward to congratulate him. "Stay!" said Urith, still on the bridge, and with the pistol in her hand. She was white with emotion, and her eyes flaming with wrath. "Listen to me--you--all of you. I saw him do it--I saw him light a ball of tinder and thrust it into the horse's ear, to drive the beast mad." She looked round--her flashing eyes sought out him of whom she spoke. "I saw him do it, when all were looking elsewhere after their cobs. He hated him, and he sought this mean, this cruel, this treacherous revenge on him." She panted, her heart was beating furiously, and the blood rushed to her temples, and then ebbed away again, leaving her giddy. "Take him!" she cried. "He deserves it. Take him and fling him among the horses, and let them trample him down into the dirt. The man who did what he has done deserves no better." "Who!--who!--name!" shouted the bystanders. "Who it was who did this? Did I not name him? It is he." She had caught sight of him with his bandaged eye. "Bring him forward--Fox Crymes." In a moment Fox was hustled forth out of the throng into the foreground. "I would," gasped Urith, in quivering fury, "that I had another pistol, and I would shoot you as I have the horse, base, vile coward." Fox looked at her contemptuously out of his one eye. "It is well that none is in your hand--a maniac should not be trusted with firearms, or should practise them on herself." "What has he done?" shouted Farmer Cudlip. "What is the charge against him?"