“I think we had better go home first,” he said.
“No, sir. It will be painful for Mrs. Darrell to see you as you are, and then you ought to have that reata off now, quickly. It will sicken you.”
“Yes, I feel a very strange sort of cold feeling.”
Gabriel was afraid that impeded circulation might make the old man faint, so he said:
“Come, Mr. Darrell, quick.”
He slipped off one stirrup, then quickly went around slipped off the other, and pulled Darrell to him gently. Down like a felled tree came the old fighter, almost bearing Gabriel down to the ground. Everett and Victoriano, checking their laughter somewhat, lent their assistance to hold him up, and as he had begun to look bluish, they saw the necessity of establishing the old man's circulation. While Everett and Victoriano held him up, Gabriel loosened the coil, rubbing briskly and hard the benumbed arms to start circulation by friction, moving them up and down.
“Can you get on your horse now?” Gabriel asked, after Darrell had moved his arms several times.
“Yes, I think I can,” he said, looking towards his house. A new shadow passed over his face.
Webster was coming back, leading his horse. Would he bring pistols? No. His mother was walking with him. Mrs. Darrell saluted the Alamares, and they lifted their hats respectfully in response. Webster had told her all that had happened, and she understood everything, excepting the steeple-chase performance. She had seen all running behind her husband, but she did not know that the chase was most involuntary on his part. Seeing them stop for so long a time in the hollow she thought he had fallen.
“What is the matter, William? Did you fall?”