Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. “What’s wrong with my foot?” she demanded. “My boot’s off.”
“I’m afraid you turned your ankle getting free from your stirrup,” he explained. “I had to do a little surgery. I could find nothing broken. It will be painful, but I fear there is nothing to do but bear it.”
She reached down and felt her foot. It was neatly bandaged with cloth very much like that which she had used to blindfold Quiver. It was easy to surmise where it came from. Evidently her protector had stopped at nothing.
“Well, are we to stay here permanently?” she asked, presently.
“Only for the night,” he told her. “If we’re lucky, not that long. Search parties will be hunting for you, and they will doubtless ride this way. Both of our horses bolted in the fire—”
“Oh yes, the fire! Tell me what happened.”
He hesitated.
“I remember riding into the fire,” she continued, “and then next thing I was on this rock. How did it all happen?”
“Your horse fell,” he explained, “just as you reached the fire, and threw you, pretty heavily, to the ground. I was behind, so I dismounted and dragged you through.”
“Oh!” She felt her face. “But I am not even singed!” she exclaimed.