“I’ll try him,” she said. “He was all right this afternoon, but he was reckless then with a hard gallop.”
Zen’s horse trotted forward at her urging to within a dozen yards of the circle of fire. Then he stopped, snorting and shivering. She rode back up the hill.
“Better blindfold him,” Grant advised, pulling off his leather coat. “A sleeve of my shirt should be about right. Will you cut it off?”
She protested.
“There’s no time to lose,” he reminded her, as he placed his knife in her hand. “My horse will go through it all right.”
So urged she deftly cut off his sleeve above the elbow and drew it through the bridle of her horse across his eyes.
“Now keep your head down close to his neck. You’ll go through all right. Give him the spurs, and good luck!” he shouted.
She was already careering down the hillside. A few paces from the fire the horse plunged into a badger hole and fell headlong. She went over his head, down, with a terrific shock, almost in the very teeth of the fire.