“Must be a stream over there,” he decided. He glanced again at the girl before leaving her. She gave no sign of returning consciousness, and one hand, Joe noticed when he carried her, hung limp, as though the wrist was broken.
“And she’s lucky to get off with that,” decided the young pitcher. “I hope I did the right thing by stopping the horse that way. She sure would have gone over the cliff if I hadn’t.”
The horse, from which had gone all desire to run farther, now struggled to its feet, and shook itself once or twice to adjust the harness. It was partly loose from it, and, with a plunge or two, soon wholly freed itself.
“Run away again if you want to now,” exclaimed Joe, shaking his fist at the brute. “You can’t hurt anyone but yourself, anyhow. Jump over the cliff if you like!”
But the horse did not seem to care for any such performance now, and, after shaking himself again, began nibbling the grass as though nothing had happened.
“All right,” went on Joe, talking to the horse for companionship, since the neighborhood seemed deserted. “Stay there, old fellow. I may need you to get to a doctor, or to some house. She may be badly hurt.”
For want of something better Joe used the top of his cap in which to carry the water which he found in a clear-running brook, not far from where he had placed the girl.
The sprinkling of the first few drops of the cold liquid on her face caused her to open her eyes. Consciousness came back quickly, and, with a start, she gazed up at Joe uncomprehendingly.
“You’re all right,” he said, reassuringly. “That is, I hope so. Do you think you are hurt anywhere? Shall I get a doctor? Where do you live?”
Afterward he realized that his hurried questions had given her little chance to speak, but he meant to make her feel that she would be taken care of.