Crestwick was cruelly kicked as the bay rolled in agony, striking with its hoofs; but he stuck to his task, and with some difficulty they dragged Lisle out of danger. When they had accomplished it, Marple came running up with two or three others and Nasmyth called to him.
“Came in the car, didn’t you? Go off for Irvine as hard as you can drive. Drop somebody at my place to run back with a gun.”
Marple swung round and set off across the field, and Crestwick understood why the gun was wanted when he glanced at the fallen horse. Nasmyth informed him that nothing could be done until the doctor came, and he turned away toward where his sister was waiting. His forehead and hands were torn and he was conscious of a bad ache in his back where a hoof had struck, but these things scarcely troubled him. He was overwhelmed, horror-stricken; and the shock of seeing Lisle crushed and senseless was not the only cause of it. Bella, gasping after her run, with hair shaken loose about her face, seemed to be suffering from the same sensation that unnerved him.
“Is he dead?” she asked falteringly.
“No. Badly hurt, I think.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed with intense relief. “I was most horribly afraid.” She paused before she resumed: “You were close by the hurdles.”
Jim knew she meant that he must have seen what happened, but, shaking as he was, he looked hard at her, wondering in a half-dazed fashion what reply he should make. He thought her suspicions were aroused.
“You were some way back; you couldn’t have seen anything plainly,” he ventured.
“I was very near—looking back toward them—when they crossed the field before the jump. You’ve gone all to pieces. What did you see?”
“I can’t talk about it now,” Jim broke out. “He’s coming back.”