He had cut one horse free, seized its headstall, dragged it to its feet, and then started it scrambling up the hill. As he was returning to the other, the animal struggled up, crazed with terror and pain, and bolted after its mate. Pennington was directly in its path on the steep hillside. He tried to leap aside, but the horse struck him with its shoulder, hurling him to the ground, and before he could stop his fall he was at the edge of the burning brush, stunned and helpless.
Every man of them who saw the accident leaped down the hillside to save him from the flames; but quick as they were, Shannon Burke was first to his side, vainly endeavoring to drag him to safety. An instant later strong hands seized both Custer and Shannon and helped them up the steep acclivity, for Pennington had already regained consciousness, and it was not necessary to carry him.
Custer was badly burned, but his first thought was for the girl, and his next, when he found she was uninjured, for the horses. They had run for only a short distance and were standing on the ridge above Jackknife, where one of the men had caught them. One was burned about the neck and shoulder; the other had a bad cut above the hock, where he had struck the plow point in his struggles.
“Take them in and take care of those wounds, Jake,” said Pennington, after examining them. “You go along,” he told another of the men, “and bring out Dick and Dave. I don’t like to risk them in this work, but none of the colts are steady enough for this.”
Then he turned to Shannon.
“Why did you go down into that?” he asked. “You shouldn’t have done it—with all the men here.”
“I couldn’t help it,” she said. “I thought you were going to be killed.”
Custer looked at her searchingly for a moment.
“It was a very brave thing to do,” he said, “and a very foolish thing. You might have been badly burned.”
“Never mind that,” she said. “You have been badly burned, and you must go to the house at once. Do you think you can ride?”