"I want to get across, and the fire has driven me from the ford," she said.
"Where are you going?"
"To the Grange."
"By your leave!"
He took the bridle and moved along the bank, though he had some trouble with the frightened horse. When they had gone a few yards he turned toward an awkward slope.
"Is this crossing safe?" Beatrice asked in alarm.
"It's not good," he answered quietly. "I can take you through."
Beatrice did not know what gave her confidence, because the ford looked dangerous, but she let him lead the stumbling horse down to the water. The next moment the man was wading knee-deep, and the stream frothed about the horse's legs. The current was swift and the smoke was thick and biting, but the man went steadily on, and they were some distance from the bank when he turned to her.
"Pick up your skirt," he said bluntly; "it gets steeper."
Beatrice laughed in spite of her danger. The man certainly did not waste words.