"Lucky if you've broken no bones," the other returned. "See if you can stand."
Ann moved aside and he helped Garvin to his feet, watching him critically as he stretched his arms and felt his body. "All right?" he asked.
"I think so."
"You're lucky."
"Lucky, am I—" Garvin said through his teeth. Then his voice rose. "Look—!"
Ann looked, and caught her breath. The horse had at last struggled up and stood quivering, nostrils wide and head bent, nosing the leg that hung limp. He had essayed a step, then stopped, grown suddenly moist. There was something very human in the eyes he lifted to the two men when they came to him, and even under their handling he shifted only a little.
Then they drew back, and their voices came sharply to Ann as she stood with hand pressed to her lips and eyes wide with pity.
"Broken, Garvin—and the shoulder strained—I've seen them like that."
"He went down in that rabbit-hole, Baird!"
"Yep—poor beast."