Thinking to expedite matters, he struck Hawk sharply across the flank. It was a foolish thing to do, and Dick knew it when he did it; ten seconds later he knew it better.
Hawk reared, tired as he was, and lunged viciously.
The double-trees snapped and splintered; there was a brief interval of plunging, a shower of muddy water in that vicinity, and then two draggled, disgusted brown horses splashed indignantly to shore and took to the hills with straps flying.
“By George!” ejaculated Sir Redmond, gazing helplessly after them. “But this is a beastly bit of luck, don't you know!”
“Oh, you Hawk—” Dick, in consideration of his companions, finished the remark in the recesses of his troubled soul, where the ladies could not overhear.
“What comes next, Dick?” The voice of Beatrice was frankly curious.
“Next, I'll have to wade out and take after those—” This sentence, also, was rounded out mentally.
“In the meantime, what shall we do?”
“You'll stay where you are—and thank the good Lord you were not upset. I'm sorry,”—turning so that he could look deprecatingly at Miss Hayes—“your welcome to the West has been so—er—strenuous. I'll try and make it up to you, once you get to the ranch. I hope you won't let this give you a dislike of the country.”
“Oh, no,” said the spinster politely. “I'm sure it is a—a very nice country, Mr. Lansell.”