A few bounds more and they were safe. As if it had understood this, and felt that further effort was needless, the runaway steed stopped abruptly, and, after looking round in unreasonable surprise, began quietly to crop the herbage at its feet.
One by one the rest of the party came up, full of congratulations.
“You dood dat well, massa,” said Quashy, who was the first to arrive, grinning all over; “and dat was a bu’ster,” he added, surveying the gap in the bush through which Lawrence had crashed.
“Please set me down before the others come up!” whispered Manuela, who, having, as we have said, half fainted, had allowed her head to fall on her rescuer’s shoulder.
Lawrence wished that circumstances might have admitted of his continuing the journey as they were then situated, but propriety required him to say—
“Here, Quash,—lend a hand.”
The negro vaulted to the ground, and received Manuela into his arms just as Pedro and the colonel galloped up.
“Thank you, Senhor Armstrong, thank you heartily,” said the latter, as he dismounted, and, sitting down on a mound, drew his child to his side.
“I’m not hurt, not a bit,” sighed Manuela, with a slight attempt at a smile.
“Thank God for that, but you are shaken a little,” returned the old soldier with an anxious look. “Here Pedro, Quashy, fetch me the flask from my saddle.”