In the excitement of the chase the rest of the cavalcade had rushed onwards, heedless of their companions' misfortunes, and the sound of feet was already dying away.
With a bound Raymond sprang to the side of his attendant and dragged him out of the reach of the perilous hoofs. Then he sought for his horn to summon assistance, but the instrument was crushed and rendered useless by the fall. Baffled in his purpose, he applied his energies to the task of restoring the unconscious man, bathing his forehead with water obtained from the brook.
His efforts at length were rewarded, for the servant sat up and gazed around in a dazed way.
"Art hurt, Thompson?" asked Raymond anxiously.
"Can scarcely tell, Sir Raymond, save that my head is swimming round like a roasting joint, and my shoulder-blades seem growing out of my neck."
"'Tis of small moment. But stand up if thou canst." Thompson staggered to his feet, and to the knight's satisfaction he found that none of the man's limbs were broken.
"'Tis a sorry pass, for we must needs find our way back afoot. Pull thyself together, man, for 'tis a goodly step betwixt us and the camp."
Drawing his hunting-knife, Raymond put the two struggling horses—each of whom had a leg broken—out of their misery, then the twain set out on their homeward way. By the time they emerged from the forest their shadows fell far athwart the path, for the sun was sinking in the west; but Thompson was rapidly recovering, and their pace was well maintained.
"There is the hill from whence we first saw the wood," remarked the knight. "But methinks we can leave that well on our left, for the camp lies yonder."
"I deem thee to be right, fair sir. But, mark ye! Look at yonder clouds."