"It is below the turn, I think. But come,—we'll walk."
He took the bridle again, and gave his other hand to Sylvie. Holding each other so, they went along.
When they came to the turn, they could see, just beyond the mass of ruin; the great wagon, three wheels in the air,—one rolled away into the ditch; the broken freight, flung all across the road, and lying piled about the wagon. One horse was dead,—buried underneath. Another lay motionless, making horrid moans. The teamster was freeing the third—the leader, which stood safe—from chains and harness.
Leading him, the man came up with Rodney and Sylvie, as they turned into the side road.
"I knew you were just ahead, when it happened. I thought you were gone for certain."
"There was a Mercy over us all!" said Sylvie, with sweet, tremulous intenseness.
The rough man lifted his hand to his bare head. Rodney clasped tighter the little fingers that lay within his own.
"What did happen?" he asked.
"The brake-rod broke; the pole-strap gave way; it was all in a heap in a minute. I saw it was no use; I had to jump. And then I thought of you. I'm glad you saw me, sir. You know I was sober."
"I know you were sober, and managing most skillfully. I had been saying that."