The horse was rearing to leap.
At that moment—a shot, and the horse fell like lead. Urith had snatched the pistol from the holster of her uncle's saddle, had leaped to the ground, run forward, and fired.
Silence remained as unbroken as before, save for the tinkle of the sheep-bell, till Anthony disengaged himself from his fallen horse, stood up, shook himself, and then a cheer burst from all the men present, who pressed forward to congratulate him.
"Stay!" said Urith, still on the bridge, and with the pistol in her hand. She was white with emotion, and her eyes flaming with wrath. "Listen to me—you—all of you. I saw him do it—I saw him light a ball of tinder and thrust it into the horse's ear, to drive the beast mad."
She looked round—her flashing eyes sought out him of whom she spoke.
"I saw him do it, when all were looking elsewhere after their cobs. He hated him, and he sought this mean, this cruel, this treacherous revenge on him."
She panted, her heart was beating furiously, and the blood rushed to her temples, and then ebbed away again, leaving her giddy.
"Take him!" she cried. "He deserves it. Take him and fling him among the horses, and let them trample him down into the dirt. The man who did what he has done deserves no better."
"Who!—who!—name!" shouted the bystanders.
"Who it was who did this? Did I not name him? It is he." She had caught sight of him with his bandaged eye. "Bring him forward—Fox Crymes."