He had not counted on the feminine weakness of fainting, and, with the dead weight of the swooning girl upon his arm, there was still a difficulty as to his future movements. How was he to get back along the limb?
He saw that nothing but sheer strength could accomplish it, and accordingly exerted all he had.
With one hand grasping the branch, and the other around the unconscious form, he made a superhuman effort, and succeeded in reaching the trunk of the tree. Against this he supported himself until he recovered breath and strength.
While thus resting, he was witness to the engulfing of the gallant steed, as the snorting animal sank into the chasm below.
The old hunter heaved a sigh. He was sorry for the creature, and would have saved it had the thing been possible.
“Wal, if it ain’t too bad for a good, plucky crittur like that to die sich a death! Confound them tarnal sink holes! They’ve been the misfortun’ o’ many a one. Thank goodness I’ve saved the feminine.”
The “feminine’s” condition now demanded his attention, as the temporary faintness was passing away, and she showed signs of returning animation.
With rare tact and delicacy, the old hunter, regardless of his own fatigue, softly lowered himself and his fair burden to the ground. Then, gently withdrawing his arm from her waist, he drew back a step or two.
Taking of his seal-skin cap, he wiped the perspiration from his brow, and, with the gallantry of a true gentleman, waited until she should address him.
The young lady he had rescued was no ordinary person.