Lawrence could not resist the temptation to ride forward and offer his own horse, although Colonel Marchbanks rode alongside of his daughter like an inflexible guardian.
“You will find my horse much easier to manage, Miss Marchbanks,” he said, “and quite as strong and fleet as your own.”
The colonel frowned, and his daughter said, “No, t’ank you, senhor,” with a little bow and a brilliant smile.
It was one of Manuela’s little fancies to revert sometimes to the broken English peculiar to her colour and costume. This was not at all relished by Lawrence. It seemed to argue a want of earnestness, which was not at all in harmony with the tremendous depth of his love for her! He drew rein immediately and fell behind, but at that moment Manuela’s horse put its foot in a biscacho-hole and stumbled. Evidently it had received a violent surprise, for, after having a second time presented its tail and nose alternately to the skies, it gave vent to an indignant snort, performed what seemed to be a pirouette on one leg, took the bit in its teeth, and bolted.
Of course the colonel put spurs to his steed, and gave chase. Instantly Lawrence did the same. As a consequence Quashy followed, and, not wishing to be left behind, the whole cavalcade went after them at full speed. The thunder of numerous hoofs acted as a sharp spur to the wild runaway. At once it became a fair race, in which each gradually took his place according to ability. The course was clear—from the Andes to the Atlantic, almost, and horses and riders were fresh!
In a remarkably short time the party straggled, and the line extended. Soon it became evident that the colonel, Lawrence, Pedro, and Quashy were the best mounted of the troop, for these four drew far ahead of all the others; yet the runaway kept its advantage, despite the utmost efforts of Manuela’s fair little arms to check it. Gradually Pedro and the colonel were left behind. Despite the utmost application of voice and spur, Quashy also dropped to the rear, and the race lay at last between our hero and the Inca princess!
Mile after mile was passed as they flew like the wind over the rolling plains, scarcely impeded at all by the Pampas grass, which was not long at that season, but at last they came to a ridge on which there was a line of low bushes. By that time, by dint of hard spurring, Lawrence had managed to get up almost alongside of the girl, whose look of gleeful excitement was now changed to one of wild anxiety.
“Try to pull just a little harder!” cried Lawrence, “your horse won’t be able to jump it.”
Manuela tried, but she had already put forth all her strength, and if that had been twice what it was, the effect on the powerful creature would probably have been just the same.
As the danger drew nearer, Lawrence made desperate efforts to increase his speed. He was so far successful that when they finally came to the line of bushes, the horses were almost abreast of each other. Horses of the Pampas are not usually jumpers, but Manuela’s horse must have had a touch of the hunter in him, for he rose to the leap, and went up like a rocket. Lawrence, on the other hand, went crashing through the obstruction like the shot of an eighty-ton gun! The leap evidently took more time than the crash, which was fortunate, for it enabled Lawrence to get well alongside at the moment the fore-feet of Manuela’s horse touched the ground, and just as the poor girl herself, unused to leaping, fairly lost her balance as well as her presence of mind and fell backward half fainting. She would have fallen to the ground if Lawrence had not caught her round the waist, and dragged her to the pommel of his own saddle. It was one of those cases of rescue which men are apt—perhaps justifiably so—to style providential, for no planning or judgment or energy on the part of Lawrence could have arranged that Manuela should have been at the apex of her leap when her powers failed, so that she should fall from that height, as it were, almost into his arms!