For the hundredth part of a second all seven sat paralysed by the hideous thing that had happened before their eyes, and by the hopeless nature of the drop down which Lenox had disappeared:—wiped out, as though he had never been.
Then Desmond's practical vigour asserted itself, and he sprang lightly to the ground.
"Here, take hold of the Demon, some one!"
And it was Quita who leant forward and grasped the bridle with a steady hand. Her action gave him the chance he wanted of getting close enough to speak a few words of encouragement in a hurried undertone.
"Don't lose heart. It's an ugly drop. But he fell clear of the tree; and these khuds are the most chancy things imaginable. I'm off after him, as fast as hands and feet can take me."
Speech was beyond her; but she thanked him with her eyes.
A moment later he was kneeling in the mud, rapidly unfastening boots and gaiters; for one downward glance had convinced him that it would be a matter of climbing, and difficult climbing at that.
By now Colonel Mayhew had dismounted also; and as Desmond stood upright—in socks and breeches—and flung aside his dripping helmet, the older man drew him to the path's edge.
"Look here, my dear chap," he mid, when they were out of earshot of the group, who sat spellbound in the grip of tragedy, "are you justified in running a serious risk, probably—to no purpose? For I'm afraid poor Lenox hasn't a ghost of a chance. You're a married man, remember; and it looks to me uncommonly like madness to attempt that khud in such weather. It'll be a case of holding on with your eyelids; and there's a coolie track not far from here, that leads down to the valley."
Desmond's month took the dogged line that his sowars knew and loved; and a combatant light flashed in his eyes.