They turned and stopped to watch, for the Allenwood trail ran down the side of the ravine among the trees not far away. Horse and rider rapidly grew indistinct and vanished over the edge of the hollow. Then there was a dull thud and the beat of hoofs suddenly broke off. The deep silence that followed was ominous.
"Throw the load off, and bring the oxen!" cried Harding as he started to run along the trail.
He was breathless when he reached the edge of the declivity; but he saw nothing when he looked down. A blurred network of trunks and branches rose from the shadowy depths with a pale glimmer of snow beneath; that was all, and there was no sound except the wail of the rising wind. Plunging straight down through the timber, Harding made for a bend of the trail where there was a precipitous bank, and on reaching it he saw a big, dark object lying in the snow some distance beneath him. This was the horse; its rider could not be far away. When he scrambled down he found the boy lying limp and still, his fur cap fallen off and his coat torn away from his body. His face looked very white, his eyes were closed, and he did not answer when Harding spoke. Kneeling down, he saw that the lad was alive but unconscious. Nothing could be done until Devine arrived.
It was a relief when he heard the oxen stumbling through the brush. Presently Devine came running up, and after a glance at the boy turned and felt the horse.
"Stone dead! What's the matter with Mowbray?"
"Some ribs broken, I suspect," said Harding. "Bring the sled close up. We've got to take him home."
They laid Lance on the jumper, and Harding stripped off his own skin coat and wrapped it round the boy.
"The shock's perhaps the worst thing, and he feels cold."
Both had had some experience of accidents in a country where surgical assistance could seldom be obtained, and Devine nodded agreement.
"Guess we'll have trouble in hauling up the grade and getting to Allenwood before the blizzard, but we've got to make it."